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PARIS SKETCHES 



LOUIS JUDSON SWINBUENE. 



" Helas ! qtt'en pottrkions-kous dire ? Il fatjdeait etbb 

l'antipode de la kaison pour ne pas confesser 

QUE Paris est le grand bureau des 

MERVEILLES." * * * 

Moliere's Les Precieuses Eidicules. 



n. 



A 



ALBANY, N. T. : 

JOEL MUN SELL. 

1875. 




1876. 



■Q^-". 
,%'^1 



TO MOTHEK, 

THIS 

LITTLE VOLUME OF SKETCHES 

IS 

DEDICATED, 

IN 
TOKEN OP THE LOVE AND AFFECTION 
OF 

HER SON. 



PARIS SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER I. 

ON TEE BOULEVARDS. 

XT was all arranged one pleasant evening as we sat 
in front of the Cafe Americain. The lines of com- 
munication between Paris and the rest of the world 
had been cut oif, and the siege had commenced in 
very truth; yet it was still possible, by the exer- 
cise of due influence with plenipotentiary powers, to 
penetrate the circle du fer, which the Prussians had 
formed round the city Only the other day, a large 
party of Americans and English had succeeded in 
getting through safely to London. But Frank — 
Frank Baldwin, our dear old friend and crony in 
those days, — had no desire to leave the invested 
city ] so at least we learned for the first time, with 
any degree of certainty, that evening at the caf^. 



Z PARIS SKETCHES. 

" Now, see here, Kent," he said, pushing aside 
his absinthe with a movement of impatience, " that'll 
do; I've had enough of your homilies and your 
bantering. It's all very jolly — the idea of spend- 
ing the winter in Italy, in the galleries of Florence, 
among the ruins of Rome, on the bay of Naples, — 
all very jolly, by George ! and the old gentleman 
wants me to go, too. But that's not the question ; 
it's a question of duty and philanthropy — needn't 
laugh, sir ! — a question of doing good and seeing life, 
I mean out-and-out camp and military life. Look at 
the ambulance upon the avenue de FEmperatrice, — 
George ! do'nt that seem to say, ' Frank, my boy, 
there's work coming.^ Been up there several times; 
queer lot, eh Kent ? put 'em down in your note-book, 
sir. Positively, I'm tired of this kind of stagnation, 
what ! none of the family here, you say ? That's so, 
but, deuce take it ! am I always to be running after 
maternal apron-strings, and crying ' mama, mama ! ' 
as the girls run after that British sot. Lord Wilmot, 
and it's ' Wilmot' here and ' Wilmot' there ? Great 
Caesars ! do'nt every body know the man is after 
Fan's money, and she, little fool — well, I say, those 
are family matters. But the conclusion of the matter 
is I'm going to stay in Paris, stand up for Johnny 



ON THE BOULEVARDS. 3 

Crapaud, and join the American ambulance. There ! 
now don't talk to me anymore about Italy, and maca- 
roni, and truffled partridges." 

It was just like Achates — dear fellow! abrupt, 
outspoken, and implusive. It seemed at first as if 
nothing could induce him to remain. He had lived 
in Paris most of his life-time, ever since, according 
to his own declaration, he had put off the pinafore ; 
brought up in luxury, and early introduced into 
circles of fashion, where his family's high social 
standing, his own extravagance, and open, generous 
disposition, made him a general favorite and young 
coterie-prince, could he possibly think of undergoing 
the hardships and privations of a siege ? Still he 
lingered, and his inclination to stay seemed to grow 
stronger and stronger. One way to urge Frank to a 
harder alternative was to dwell ironically on the ease 
and delights of the opposite course. He had his 
aspirations after the high and the noble, and dis- 
liked to be reminded that he was born with a golden 
spoon in his mouth and had been all his life repos- 
ing on a bed of roses. We had been testing the 
efl&cacy of this mode of treatment for several days 
past, and particularly on that evening. His father 
had left three courses open to him : to winter in 



4 PARIS SKETCHES. 

Italy, do the season in London, or to keep house 
in Paris. He chose the last, not much, it must be 
confessed, to our surprise, for we had had previous 
knowledge of his sterling qualities of heart and head. 

Tall, fair haired, open browed, good natured, 
hearty, and dashing in his manner, you couldn't 
help being drawn to him when you caught the clear, 
honest light in his eyes and felt the warm grip of his 
hand. There was nothing effeminate or selfish in 
his composition, though he had breathed so long the 
atmosphere of frivolity and fashion ; few indeed 
could have come out from the ordeal unspotted and 
unscathed as he had done. Despite occasional fits 
of fashionable ennui and languor, he was active, and 
willing to work, when, as he expressed it in his 
Frenchy way, he descended into the depths of his con- 
sciousness and felt a call. At the very first attracted 
to him, we came in time to love him for his bright 
smile, his cheery presence, his warm cordiality, his 
easy independence, his free outspokenness, and his 
comical hatred of shams and pretenses. 

*' I'm rejoiced at your decision, Frank," said Kent 
earnestly, " though it was rather sudden, you will ad- 
mit, but," he continued quickly, as he saw his com- 
panion was about to interrupt him, " I believe you 



ox THE BOULEVARDS. 5 

will never have cause to regret of your having taken 
the step, so far as experience, and the life you will 
see, are concerned/^ 

" ^a est fait," Frank answered in the peculiar 
manner of the Paris gamin, " it's done, and don't let's 
say anything more about it. I'll go up to-morrow 
and have my name enrolled on the books of ambu- 
lance." 

It was very pleasant to sit there in the open air, 
and watch the mixed stream of human life as it 
ebbed and flowed past us. The boulevard with its 
rows of cafes and brilliantly lighted shops was all 
ablaze with life and gayety; mirth, vivacity, gallantry 
scandal met one at every turn. It was the same 
light-hearted crowd of pleasure seekers that thronged 
the promenades in the days of the empire. " Les 
Anglais n'aime pas s'amuser " said a Parisiennc to 
the author of " Fair France " in the days of the 
Boeuf Gras ; and the French ! Look at this laughing 
crowd sauntering idly on, listen to the murmur of 
their lively talk, mark the joyousness. the insouciance, 
the vanity, the frivolity of them all. '' Paris," re- 
marks Victor Hugo, "■ a une jovialite souveraine." 
Is it not so ? Keilected in the large mirrors of the 
cafe, one could see the amorous glances of mus- 



6 PARIS SKETCHES. 

tacliioed Mars, and the gleam of dainty white feet 
under the tables. The glitter of uniforms, and the 
shimmer of silk and satin, and all the myriad of 
glancing colors, under the blaze of the chandeliers, 
dazzle the eye and mind. The low hum of voices, 
musical and never ceasing, the jest, the laugh, the 
repartee, the clank of sabres, the clink of glasses, the 
occasional strains of some popular opera air or 
military ballad — these are the sounds that float 
round and fill the air as naturally as the sea-moan 
fills the conch. 

" La verre en mains, gaiment je me confie 
Au Dieu des bonnes gens '^ 

is the eternal burden of their life song, and who 
could catch the spirit of the boulevards more readily 
than Beranger ? A fragrance at once alluring and 
indefinable pervades the place. It is not the fumes 
of the Havanas from this party next us, nor the 
steam from the cofi"ee-cups of yonder chatty group, 
though their odors are agreeable enough; it is 
nothing distinct and divisible, but a quintessence of 
perfumes. 

" What is this delicious atmosphere like ? tell me, 
Frank," I say. 



ON THE BOULEVARDS. 7 

" Like ! hum — why, a Turkish bath — or stay, like 
that deuced incense they burn in the Madeleine." 

" Fiddlesticks ! and what do you say, Kent ? " 

" Why there's some truth in his simile. In effect, 
it is something like incense on these light-headed 
Parisians; but it seems to me, in the way it acts, 
more like the exhalations arising from the tripod 
of the Delphic goddess — exhilerating and intoxicat- 
ing, or like the eating of the lotus-plant, causing a 
dreamy forgetfulness of care, duty, trouble." 

'' Bravo ! Kent, we'll elect you one of the bas- 
bleues — ho, Bottom, thou art translated! Methinks 
I see the ass's ears sprouting out already. Groddess 
and tripods and lotus- plants ! no, no, pas ga ! It's a 
pot-pourri of blaze, fashion, scandal, women, wit, 
wine, wisdom — " 

" There, Frank, that will do," says Kent. " We 
see it all now, thank you — not as through a glass, 
darkly, but as through — a millstone, plainly. 

" Bating the atmosphere," I say again, " it doesn't 
seem to me that Paris has changed so very much 
since the empire ; it's still the Elysium where good 
Americans wish to go when they die, so far as I can 
see. 



8 PARIS SKETCHES. 

" Ah," Frank replies with a bit of sadness in his 
tone, " you don't notice it as they do who have lived 
here longer, eh, Kent ? The Tuiileries vacant, no 
more balls, no more fetes, the gardens filled with 
tents, camp-fires, and cannon, the Cirque de V Empe- 
ratrice a barrack, the Champ de Mars a camp, the 
Bois an artillery-field, avenues barricaded, hotels 
closed, hawkers on the trottoirs, Mobiles in the streets 
and the whole city turned into a military encamp- 
ment." 

" And the cafes," began Kent. 
" And the cafes closed at half past ten," he con- 
tinued, waxing eloquent as he proceeded. " Think 
of the Eiche and the Anglais closing at half past 
ten ! Some officers of the national guard were having 
an old fashioned imperial carouse the other night at 
the Maison Doree, and lo ! deputations and protesta- 
tions from the people, and the Maison Doree, that 
has been open night and day for the last twenty years, 
was closed at half past ten! " 

" Nous sommes bien tombes," remarked Kent ironi- 
cally. 

" Helas for the viveurs ! " was the only reply. 
" Then there are the theatres," said the other. 
" Peste on the ignorant who went out of the way 



ON THE BOULEVARDS. 9 

to advocate their closing ! why, the keenest wit and 
humorist of the G-reek drama flourished in an hour 
of national gloom, when the people lived in tubs and 
hen-coops, and yet thronged to hear the ' Knights ' 
and the ' Acharnians/ 

" Your historic lore is astounding, my dear fellow. 

" As for the opera — ' 0, what a fall is there, my 
countrymen ' ! Performances in civilian dress, the 
orchestra in uniform of the national guard, in which 
we have a touch of Moliere or Racine, an ode impro- 
vised by some Quartier Latin hack, and a discourse 
on bread and powder ; charity concerts in which the 
gem of the repertoire is the ' Yalse des Sylphes,' or 
*La Mandolinata; musical soirees begun by M. Pas- 
deloup with some spirit, and then — chaos; these 
are our amusements in this ' mecca of civilization/ 
Depuis, our Fritz, Schneider, Bulotte, la Belle 
Hel^ne, la Grande Duchesse, all gone, gone." 

" It's only you inveterate play-goers that observe 
these changes, and take them so to heart, " Kent re- 
marked. 

" Assurement ] but isn't all Paris play-going, mon 

brave ?" was the ready answer. " 'Tisn'tonly here 

one sees it, mind you ; one can hardly find his way 

in the streets now. Rue de I'Empereur is Rue de 

2 



10 PARIS SKETCHES. 

la Republique, and avenue de I'Emperatrice is 
Avenue du General Ulrich, and so on to infinity." 

•' Petty spite I" 

" Petty ! it's small enough, parhleu ; but do you 
remember tbe statue of tbe Petit Corporal out there 
at Courbevoie — the one in top-boots and great-coat 
that used to be on top of the Colonne Vendome ? 
carved by Seurve wasn't it ? Well, the other day 
some patriotic sans culottes — wager a franc it was 
some of Flourens' battalion — got hold of it, hauled 
it down, and rolled it into the Seine. Jufort told 
me about it ; saw it done himself. Why, it's the act 
of a lot of barbarians ; the idea of destroying a work 
of art — national property like that — for the sake 
of' 

" Hark !" cried Kent, jumping up from his seat, 
and pointing down the sidewalk. 

A confused and unintelligible shout came from 
that direction, and there was a jostling and scatter- 
ing in the crowd, whose gay listlessness changed into 
a buzz of polite excitement ; ladies mounted on chairs 
and gazed down the street ; then the rush of feet 
was heard, and through the parted press, a troop of 
eager, hard-panting men and boys rushed by, bawling 



ON THE BOULEVAEDS. 11 

at the top of tlieir lungs-" un Prussien !" — "ua 
Prussien !" but no such personage was to be seen. 

They passed, in hot pursuit of the soi disant spy ; 
the tramp of feet presently ceased ; the cries of the 
hunters died away in the distance ; the throng on 
the boulevard closed again, and went sauntering on 
with the same thoughtless mirth and indifference as 
before. 

It was not an uncommon occurrence in those days. 
Almost every evening the boulevards were witness to 
ludicrous scenes of espionnoge, and the mania became 
as epidemic as the cry " a Berlin " had been. Many 
amusing anecdotes are told of the " descoveries " 
made, and I take the liberty of repeating one by 
Francisque Sarcey, which, as far as I know, has 
never been translated into English. 

" Sometimes in the evening you would see a knot 
collecting slowly, with noses erect in air ] and it was 
not long before the knot became a crowd. What is 
it they are gazing at with so much attention ? — a 
light burning in the fourth story, and moving from 
room to room. A light ! at ten o'clock at night ! 
away up there in the roof of the house ! That can be 
nothing but a signal — Tenez ! do you see the green 
reflection ? and thus the speakers take up the cue : 



12 PARIS SKETCHES. 

' I know the porter, — Lis wife's a Prussian ; slie's 
hiding spies, that's certain ; they want to betray 
Paris.' The National Guard would ariive, a detach- 
ment sieze upon the trembling concierge, and follow 
him up stairs to the top of the house. There they 
would always find a quiet family sewing or reading 
by the light of the faithful lamp. — But this glancing 
of the light from one window to another ? 

*' Why, we were going to look for something in 
the other room.' 

" ' And the green reflection ? 

" ' That's because our curtains are of a greenish 
shade.' 

Another night "an extraordinary object the color 
of which changed from red to green and blue, under 
the light of a candle that was observed to be moving 
about in an uneasy manner, aroused a whole neigh- 
borhood, who, unable to discover any explanation to 
the phenomena, were talking of sacking and burning 
the observatory. Accordingly, the domicile was 
broken open, and behind the window they found, 
upon his perch, a stuffed parrot on which were 
cast the flickering rays of a moving candle !" 

A debtor cornered by his boot or shoe-maker, 
scared him off by crying aloud " un espion !" Houses 



ON THE BOULEVARDS. 13 

under suspicion were searched from top to bottom. 
Dreher's brewery was entered by a mob, wbo insisted 
that lie bad been hanging out signals for the enemy. 
Individuals caught on the boulevards were escorted 
to the prefecture amid the hoots and jeers of the 
crowd, and no body was free from risk at the ram- 
parts. Even Trochu himself is said to have been 
arrested, and Jules Favre passed one night in a 
damp prison cell on a bundle of straw. 

We had been sitting for some time over our coffee, 
as one gets in the habit of doing in Paris, and the 
evening was well advanced, when we left the caf^, 
and wandered up the Champs Elysee, out on the 
Avenue du Roi de Rome. Frank was alone in his 
great house on the avenue, and consequently claimed 
us both as guests, for the night at least, an arrange- 
ment to which neither seemed to be in any way averse. 
The Baldwins lived in regal style in one of those 
splendid hotels that wealthy Americans build for 
themselves in the most fashionable quarters of the 
metropolis, which vie in magnificence of furniture 
and luxury of arrangement with the palaces of princes. 
Broad, dainty-lighted, m-arble staircases, — suites of 
richly-decorated apartments with variously tinted 
walls and gilded ceilings, — scores of costly paintings 



14 PARIS SKETCHES. 

of the modern Frencli and English schools — bronzes 
and statues, and mosaics — everything in the most 
exquisite taste and elegance of make adapted to ren- 
der a home attractive and refined. 

In answer to the summons at the porte cocliere^ a 
dapper little figure clothed in black, with a faultless 
white tie and a clean white napkin, appeared, and 
conducted us up stairs to our rooms, only to re-appear 
when our ablutions were concluded, and conduct us 
again to the dining-room, where a snow white spread 
awaited. Dinner at this hour ! Only a light kind of 
American supper, Frank explained in answer to our 
query ; and indeed, it proved to be a reasonably sim- 
ple meal of three or four dishes with some light wines 
with the desert, the substantial being remarkable for 
their smallness in amount and delicacy of flavor. 
Auguste remained in the room only when directed 
to do so by a sign from his master, and at such times 
performed at once the offices of waiter and valet; 
for, being an intelligent fellow, he could be very 
sedulous in his attention on the table, and at the 
same time unfold all the coffee-house gossip and sat- 
isfy enquiries on the political events of the day. 

The evening passed quietly and pleasantly away. 
We played several games of ecarte, and sang a few 



ON THE BOULEVARDS. 15 

old familiar songs togettier, and then retired to our 
rooms for the night. From our windows we could 
look out upon the great city as it lay asleep in the 
mist of the night. The air was fresh and cool, and 
all along the lines of the larger avenues were streams 
of hazy light; the never-ceasing murmur of life and 
activity arose from the streets, dreamy, and far-off, 
like the murmur of the sea. We sat a long time 
looking up into the starry heavens, and talking of 
the future, and it was only for very weariness that 
we fell asleep at last and revelled in the land of Nod. 



16 PARIS SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE. 

W E were awakened the next morning by a slight 
tap at the door. 

" Helloa — entrez !" cried out Frank from his 
room, "is it you, Auguste ? Serve monsieur first, 
if you' please." 

I was dimly conscious of being gently shaken, 
bolstered up by the big pillows, and neatly napkined, 
the dainty little valet moving noiselessly round and 
performing his office with a despatch and facility 
both novel and pleasing. Then it was " Will mon- 
sieur have anything more ? " after the preliminary 
processes had been completed and the tiny tray left 
on the bed, as if he hadn't conducted himself like a 
prince of valets already, with his soft, warm hands 
and attentive adaptation to one's unexpressed desires. 
I answered in the negative, naturally, employing the 
most affable term in my vocabulary, and the modest 
fellow seemed quite content, and glided cat-like out 
of the room. 0, the power of bienfaisance in this 
land! 



THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE. 17 

It was my first breakfast in bed. There was tlie 
ligbt-colored cofi"ee with an inch of creamy foam on 
its surface and a delicious flavor; and the cream, 
served hot in a taper silver pitcher ; and the bread, 
light, pufiy, and white as snow. That was all, and 
must suffice until ten or eleven o'clock. Think of 
our American breakfasts of tough beefsteak, hot 
potatoes, and muffins, washed down by a cup of 
murky coffee ! It may be enervating to take one's 
coffee in bed, but it's mighty pleasant when the morn- 
ing mists are in your eyes and a dull good nature in 
your heart. But then, it's practiced only by ladies, 
petits creves, and — 

" Well " says Frank, appearing at my door to in- 
terrupt the reverie, clad in a loose, richly-worked 
morning gown and cigarette in hand, " how are you 
getting on ?" 

" It's my first real Parisian dejeuner," I reply. 

' Like it, eh ! " he asked, sitting down in an easy 
chair and lolling back in his careless way. " Ah. you 
shall dine with Martinez some day. Spanish friend of 
mine 3 great connoiseur of paintings, china, bronzes, 
dinners, and all that sort of thing. He's like Kent 
in some respects." 



18 PARIS SKETCHES. 

" Where is Kent by the way ? I haven't seen him 
this morning/' 

" Kent ! Oh, he was up long ago, took his cold 
bath and coffee, and now he's hard to work in the 
study. Jolly good fellow, Kent; student of human 
nature, you know. — I'm in earnest, really. Head of 
such characters, but never met one of the genuine 
stamp before. And he is a student — George ! he's 
got a pile of notes on his jaunts in Great Britain 
that would make three ordinary octavo volumes. One 
year — aye, over a year — here m Paris, the Lord 
knows how much longer he's going to stay. Deuced 
hard student, Kent." 

" But he do' n't seem to be reading up anything 
special just now," I venture to remark. 

" You don't understand — not reading ! Why he 
never ceases a minute, /oi de citoyenX He goes to 
the cafe, the theatre, the clubs, the Bois, the churches, 
with the same purpose uppermost in his pate ; and 
he watches, listens, examines, and notes down, and 
all the time you would think he was idling and un- 
occupied. The world's his school, don't you see ? 
and men and women are his books. Though he has 
his paper books, too — George ! you couldn't get him 
away from them. Marvellous head for learning ; 



THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE. 19 

studies Huxley or Compt§ with all the enthusiasm 
he reads Kousseau or Alfred de Musset ; sees beauty 
in a nice demonstration in Euclid — peace to his 
ashes ! — as he does in a fine painting or a pretty 
woman. Camden calls it equipoise of heart and in- 
tellect — ha ! — but he's an odd genius, Kent, that's 
true." 

His cigarette had burned down by this time, and 
rising with a yawn, he proposed we dress and walk 
over to the Ambulance. In half an hour we were 
out on the avenue, making for our destination. 
Frank talked all the way in his glib, dashing way, 
heedless where his shafts fell, and changing the 
subject with the most incidental suggestion. Arriv- 
ing at the camp, he made straight for the office, and 
had his name enrolled on the volunteer service, hav- 
ing a comical fear, as he confessed, that his resolu- 
tion might fail him, if he waited longer. " But 
now," said he, contemplating his signature with a 
rueful countenance, " I'm launched on a sea of peril 
and privation, morbleu !" 

It would be the height of boredom and folly to 
attempt a detailed description of the Ambulance as it 
then was. Later in the siege, Kent and I had the 
honor of conducting through the wards a medical 



20 PARIS SKETCHES. 

gentleman of considerable repute in Paris, and, in 
order to offer you a general idea of the organization, 
we would ask you to accompany us in his society, 
with as much patience and indulgence as you may 
command. 

He was a short, stout, paunchy man, with a red, 
plethoric face, spectacles, and a big-knobbed cane, 
which he rapped smartly on the floor now and then 
to give greater emphasis to his speech. Kather 
pompous at first, and punctilious to a hair, his native 
vivacity and enthusiasm for science would frequently 
get the better, and revealed the talkative Parisian 
and true philosopher. He had been visiting the pro- 
minent ambulances in the city, he said, for the pur- 
pose of gathering material for a TMse he designed 
writing and presenting before the Academy of 
Sciences. Of the American ambulance he had heard 
a good deal from his friend and colleague. Monsieur 
Dubois, but had not up to this time found opportu- 
nity to come and see it, though all the press had 
been so flattering in its commendations. He became 
very voluble on further acquaintance, and rattled on 
like one deeply interested in his subject — his round 
eyes twinkling eloquently and his cane thumping 
unceasingly. 



THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE. 21 

He was pleased iu the first place with the exterior 
of the Ambulance, for, like most of his countrymen, 
he had an eve to the artistic and aesthetic side of 
things. He regarded it for some time — so fresh 
and picturesque with its fore-ground of evergreens 
and shrubs, its rows of white tents, with their flags 
flying gaily, its round pavilion with conical peak, its 
fiag-stafi", and its darker barracks extending round 
the quadrangle in the back-ground. 

"Very pretty — charming," he exclaimed at last 
with sincere admiration; " it is a veritable city of tents, 
and so bright and cheerful looking ; mais — ahem ! — 
monseiur, I have many questions to ask you, but not 
now, — no, not now. And those fine wagons over 
there with the superb horses attached — is that your 
service volant V 

Kent replied in the affirmative, and told him how 
American gentlemen resident in Paris had given up 
their elegant spans to the service of transportation 
in the ambulance. 

"Ah, vos Americains !'^ was the sole rejoinder. 
Evidently the old gentleman was not in the secret ; 
" cela me fend le choeur de les voir extenu^s", says 
Maitre Jacques of Harpagon's " pauvres animaux" 
and no doubt it would have struck grief to the hearts 



22 PARIS SKETCHES. 

of these good gentlemen to wake up some morning 
and find their noble steeds cut and quartered for 
the breakfast of Jacques and Jules. At any rate it 
was safer to have them under the protecting banner 
of the Red cross. On entering the grounds, our 
visitors glanced round at the throng of volunteers 
sauntering about, and asked curiously : — 

"But who are these gentlemen, messieurs?" 

Kent explained that they were members of the 
volunteer staff, which was divided into two squads, 
doing duty on alternate days, and pointed out several 
of the more prominent. 

"But they are men of wealth and high standing 
in society," said the little gentleman in surprise. 

"Certainly, sir; but that consideration doesn't 
seem to make any difference with their picking up a 
wounded man or dressing an injured limb on the 
field." 

" And — and — ahem ! pardon the question, mon- 
sieur, — are the services rendered, gratuitous — I 
mean of course, altogether ?" and the round red face 
of the little man grew redder, and the cane rapped 
faster than ever. 

" Entirely so, sir." 

"Strange; it is strange," he remarked musingly, 



THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE. 23 

" the system will not work among us. It is most 
noble, most generous, most humane in them." 

Indeed to see a well known artist or banker assist- 
ing in surgical operations, engaged in dressings, and 
even descending, when necessary, to the menial duties 
of a common infirmier, was a matter of wonder to 
most Frenchmen. A Parisian could not possibly 
undertake it without a derogation of his personal 
dignity in his own estimation and in the estimation 
of others. Our present visitor acknowledged this 
and with growing surprise, followed us into the 
wards, after having examined the canvass and fly on 
the outside. It was in the afternoon, and the wards 
were neat, clean, and in perfect order ; several of the 
lady nurses were seated by the bedside of the 
wounded reading to or writing letters for them ; and 
some were playing ecarte or backgammon with those 
who had become convalescent. Altogether it was a 
pretty and homelike picture even to those who were 
accustomed to look upon it day after day. 

The little doctor looked unutterable surprise. He 
was too well bred to express it directly, had he been 
able to do so, perhaps ; as he was he simply beamed 
round through his spectacles in amazement. Two or 
three of these ladies he had met at the most refined 



24 PARIS SKETCHES. 

and fashionable circles in Paris, and now here they 
were by the sides of poor, rude, illiterate soldiers in 
the wards of a hospital. He didn't appear to under- 
stand it at all ; finally, however, after some confusion, 
and much hemming, and thumping on the board- 
floors, he regained his composure sufficiently to con- 
verse with the " Madames '^ — how urbanely and 
softly he pronounced the word ! — of his acquaint- 
ance. In taking leave, he said to the Marquise de 
Borel, with naive warmth of sentiment, his beaver 
doffed the while, and his eyes looking every emo- 
tion : 

" Ah, Madame, c'est poetique, nay heroic, this 
sacrifice of self and comforts to relieve the sufferings 
of the poor children of France. It is your gracious 
presence, your soothing words, your tender care, 
your silent sympathy, which works the quick cure. 
Was it not our Ambrose Par^ who said, — ' I dress 
the wounds, — God cures them?' But your good 
doctor here may say, — ' I dress the wounds, — the 
ladies, with God's help, do the rest.' '^ 

At the sight of the wounded, however, the little 
doctor was a changed man ; his professional vanity, 
of which he had his full share, was piqued, and the 
gallantry of the man of the world lost in the instincts 



THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE. 25 

of tlie pure scientist. He went snuffing suspiciously 
about and critically examining fractures, amputations, 
and appliances for their treatment ; nothing escaped 
his keen and experienced eye. 

" What ! " he exclaimed,'' no smell, no hospital 
odor — ah ?" It was an enigma to him, as it was to 
most others of his countrymen, this absence of the 
usual sickening odors that offend the senses and cause 
nausea even in the far-famed hospital of Laripoisiere. 
The air here was absolutely pure and healthtul. 

" But," he continued, looking at the thin covering 
of the tent, " surely you cannot keep out the cold, 
too." 

He was assured that it was not only possible, but 
had been done all the winter unusually severe as it 
had been. Then Kent showed him the furnaces, 
and the warm air pipes, and the registers, and ex- 
plained at length the whole system of heating; he 
furnished him with the statistics of the temperature, 
and told him how, during the bitter cold nights of 
December, when men were freezing to death at the 
outposts, a uniform temperature of 15° to 18° (centi- 
grade) had been maintained without forcing the fires. 

The doctor was exceedingly interested, amazed, 
delighted; he forgot his professional dignity alto- 



26 PARIS SKETCHES. 

gether, and rushed up and down the wards, and in 
and out, testing everything with his own hands, 
and noting down his observations in a little book. 
Innumerable queries were poured in upon poor Kent, 
and the old gentleman's efforts to repress his sensa- 
tions of surprise and delight were very comical to see. 
" Ah yes, I see, yes, yes ; but — hem ! — this 
pipe — ha! — is it so? (writing in his book). It 
is admirable ; and the trench there, is that American ? 
wonderful ! (rapping with his cane) — a most in- 
genious arrangement — and what can be the use of 
this V etc — 

■He was particularly struck with the respective 
percentages of deaths after amputation and conserva- 
tion of fractures of the thigh and leg. "Mon Dieu," 
he said, frankly, " look at the ambulance in the 
Grand Hotel : twenty amputations and twenty deaths, 
And of those under conservative treatment ! pass on. 
gentlemen, pass on. Your men, too, look happy, con- 
tented, and well fed ; that is a great point too much 
neglected in our hospitals. The treatment, nay, the 
maltreatment and neglect of the wounded in the 
Palais de I'lndustrie is something fearful. Ah, mon- 
sieur, 'tis a good work you are doing, you Americans." 
Finally we reached the Pharmacy, and the doctor 



THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE. 27 

being tliorouglily conversant with this department, 
his spirits rose accordingly as he crossed the threshold. 

" No medicines — no drugs, eh ? and where are 
your teas, monsieur ?" 

" In our wines," sir, Kent replied, and the old 
gentleman stared at first, then smiled understandingly 

" Bon ! and what is this stufi" you use for dressing- 
wounds ? I have seen but little lint here." 

" We call it oakum, sir ; it's made from the ends 
of rotten old ropes, and has proved invaluable," and 
he went on to dilate upon its antiseptic qualities. 

" Very good, cheap, and easily procured ; it's 
exactly what we want," said the doctor, again scrib- 
bling in his book. " What can you not do, you 
Americans ? Ah, monsieur, if the French artisan 
had some of your practical common sense and clever- 
ness of improvisation, he would be the most perfect 
workman in the world." 

We had by this time gone the round of the camp, 
and seen all there was to be seen, and before taking 
his leave, begged the old gentleman to inscribe his 
name on the register. 

" You shall have it with pleasure," he replied to 
our request, sitting down at the desk, and running 
over the signatures in the book. " Ah, a long list ! 



28 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

and who is this ? Gosselin ? truly, and Larrey, and 
Doremburg, and the great doctor Ricord, and Nela- 
tion — what is it he writes ? ' Most excellent results 
obtained by very simple means'. Bon! that is the 
idea exactly. And here is G^uerin, too — his pen- 
and-needle autograph is not to be mistaken. ' I 
am happy to echo the sentiment of my eminent col- 
league, M. Nelaton,^ he says. Well, it must be very 
agreeable to receive the visits and commendations 
of these distinguished men. But — pardon-nez moi — 
there is my poor scrawl. And now, messieurs," 
he said rising and extending two fingers of his left 
hand, " I must bid you good day ; I have kept you 
too long already. Thank you very much for your 
courtesy, messieurs. This is the way out ? Thank 
you, I see now, good-day, adieu, messieurs," and 
placing his hand on his heart, and bowing and smil- 
ing, he took his leave. The last we saw of this little 
doctor, he was toddling down the avenue de FEmpera- 
trice, head dropped in a reflective mood, and the knob 
of his cane braced against his chin, Esculapian 
fashion. 



SUNDAY IN PARIS. 29 



CHAPTER III. 

STJNBA Y m PARIS. 

JLT was a warm, sunny Sabbath morning, and the 
Staflf and Volunteers were assembled in tbe front 
grounds of the Ambulance, dispersed among the 
green shrubbery, and awaiting the arrival of the ex- 
pected visitors, — Minister Washburn, Baron Larrey, 
and Chevalier Wicotf. The camp looked quite pictur- 
esque on this bright morning of the autumn, — the 
uniformed throng, the cool, fresh tents, the flags 
flying from barrack and pole, lending it an attractive, 
and even gay appearance. 

Yonder by the entrance -tent is Captain Bowles, 
Banker, and grouped around him, the gallant mem- 
bers of his squad ; and yonder, Captain J. K. Riggs, 
also surrounded by rank and file — Will Dryer, Gun- 
ther, Keeler, and others. On the office-platform sit 
long whiskered Camden with his inevitable cigar, 
the Doctor, Ward, and the Dominie, who is convers- 
ing with Professor Blanqui, philologist. Mrs. Cass, 
lacrimose and resigned, is bending over her desk in 



30 PARIS SKETCHES. 

the sitting-room, consoled only by the twittering of her 
light-hearted canary in its pendant cage. Strange 
that she don't see the interesting scene being en- 
acted between Dupre, the handsome young painter, 
and Mile. Blanchard, on the sofa ! Among a group 
of ladies near tent No. 2 towers the tall form of the 
major — Major O'Flynn of Her Majesty's Indian 
army, whose famed steed, Grarryowen, will be seen 
aways off, pawing the earth in pride of birth and 
blood. Frank is darting about from group to group, 
shaking everyone by the hand, and talking and 
laughing all the while. Madame Bernois is there, 
and Kent and Chef with his yellow dog, and a score 
more of familiar forms and faces, which rise up with 
strange vividness as one falls into the connected train 
of associations. 

Such was the scene that greeted the eyes of Mr. 
Washburn and his friends, when they drove up to 
the gates of the Ambulance, that fall morning. 
Baron Larrey came in a private coup4, escorted by 
two aids, while His Excellency came in Sijlacre, and 
unattended except by the chevalier, who accompanied 
him as a visitor and not in an official capacity. One 
could judge something of the character of the two 
men even from this trivial occurrence. 



SUNDAY IN PARIS. 31 

Mr. Wasliburn is a tall, powerfully-built man, of 
commanding presence, with keen, not unkindly eyes, 
peering out from under shaggy eyebrows, strait, iron- 
gray-bair, and large, strong features expressive of 
great sagacity, decision, and energy. He bad sbown 
himself to be possessed of wonderful natural ability 
for executive administration, and massive common 
sense, and good judgment. It will be remembered 
how for his unwearied watchfulness over the moneyed 
interest of the country, and for his fearless exposure 
of fraudulent practices in the United States Senate, 
he received the inelegant but strongly suggestive 
epithet of the " bull-dog of the Treasury." But it 
is in Paris chiefly that Mr. Washburn has won for 
himself a distinguished place in history. He alone 
of all the representatives of the greater powers, re- 
mained firm and unmoved at his post of duty. 
Throughout the war, he has been, as some one has 
remarked, the mind of the Diplomatic Corps. 

The Baron is a very different class of man. He 
is the son of the Larrey of historic renown, who at- 
tended the great Napoleon in nearly all of his military 
campaigns ; his head is white with the snows of over 
sixty winters, but his frame is still stout and com- 
pact, his step firm and elastic, his energy and vital- 



32 PARIS SKETCHES. 

ity unimpaired. He seems to be a proud, silent, 
severe old man, preserving the stern rigor and mili- 
tary precision of a soldier of tlie old regime. At 
times you might fancy him the scion of some impo- 
verished family of the noblesse, there is something so 
sad and noble in the thoughtful countenance. He 
is generally abstracted in mood, but when he speaks, 
it is sharply and sententiously, though a true French- 
man in his adherence to form and ceremony. 

These reflections on the old nobleman, and the 
delightful web of romance I was beginning to weave 
round him, were interrupted rudely by a hearty slap 
on the back. 

" Well Frank ?" I knew who it was as well as I 
knew the purr of Mile. Blanchard's tortoise-shell cat 
from the purr of all the other cats of the neighbor- 
hood. 

" Do you want an introduction — off-hand, you 
know, — c'est a moi, mon brave — to Wicoff, the 
chevalier?'^ 

"Very much, my dear ; I've been in hysterics to'' — 

" Yes ? well, that's good ! He's the biggest ass 
this side the — Rhine ; " and taking my arm, he 
walked me toward the Round Tent, volunteering a 
deal of information on the way, which none but 



SUNDAY IN PARIS. 33 

Frank could have obtained so readily and used so 
indiscriminately. 

" And so, you see," lie concluded, " the man has 
become notorious as a parasite of the Emperor, and 
a protege of the Princess Mathilde. If ever a gal- 
lery of European celebrities is gotten up, he will 
stand out prominent as a political adventurer and a 
literary — say, look at him now, through the fold of 
the tent there ! aint a bad-looking fellow, is he ? 
Oh, he's polite enough, and all that, but as pompous 
as an ass, sir. He expresses himself with the dog- 
matism of a Johnson. Csesars ! you can hear that 
grunt from here. What hasn't the chevalier seen 
in his short life ? writer, diplomatist, traveler, lover, 
reporter — buttenez ! here we are, and now for a 
Lord Burleigh nod." 

Indeed, he received us graciously enough for a 
man of the world, bestowing the nod that Frank 
presaged with a condescension that quite went to 
one's heart. I observed him closely and with con- 
siderable interest, for I had become acquainted with 
him previously through his book. Of the only two 
books at our apartments suited to my taste at the 
time, Wordsworth was one and 31?/ Courtship 
5 



34 PARIS SKETCHES. 

the other ; and here before me was the hero of that 
strange romance. For the benefit of the interested, 
it may be stated by the way, that Miss Gamble, the 
persecuted beauty of the tale, resides at present in 
London, having probably experienced the truth of 
that pithy remark of George Eliot's on the " pillulous 
smallness" of prematrimonial acquaintanceships. 

Meanwhile Mr. Washburn and the Baron, escorted 
by the staff and volunteers, walked round inspecting 
the different wards. They were approaching our 
own tent, for the order and cleanliness of which 
Frank and I were both naturally solicitous, when 
sounds quite destructive of the quiet and discipline 
necessary, were heard coming from the interior. 

" Ah, qu'il est beau !" 

Somebody sang in tones unutterably painful in 
their hilarious gayety. Frank groaned aloud, and 
made a vain attempt to drown the song in glib talk, 
adroitly managing to detain the party a minute in 
the hope of the occupant becoming aware of the pre- 
sence of visitors and leaving off the accursed air. 
But it was of no use : Within a few feet of the door, 
another and louder refrain burst forth as if in mock- 
ing derision 



" Ah. qu'il est beau. 



SUNDAY IN PARIS. 35 

Turn — turn — turn — turn" 

" S'George !" cried Frank, irritated beyond endur- 
ance, and breaking through all ceremony, he rushed 
headlong into the ward. " I'll ' turn — turn ^ you, 
Master Alphonse ! " 

His excellency only smiled and looked amused, 
the Baron frowned in displeasure, and followed the 
guide inside. Sure enough, it was Alphonse the 
dancer, and he had struck an attitude, and was re- 
hearsing to the rows of empty beds the couplets 
of the merry Gens d'Armes in Genevieve de Bra- 
hant. No sooner, however, did he catch sight of 
the indignant countenance of Achates than with a 
final caper he bounded up, and then vanished pre- 
cipitously. He was a stout, wiry, limber rascal, 
this Alphonse, strutting about in his uniform and 
cocking his ambulance kepe with a most 7'oue and 
knowing air. The ends of his twirling moustache were 
always carefully waxed, his colored tie unimpeach- 
able, his shoes neat and shining; a gay, light- 
hearted, cheerful body, he was forever humming 
the last popular air of the ca/4s chanfants, or repeat- 
ing the latest witticism of the clubs. He never failed 
to bow gallantly to the ladies when they passed. 
From his youth upward he had been a professional 



S6 PARIS SKETCHES. 

can-can dancer, and incredible stories were told of his 
terpsichorean feats at Mabille ; his very talk was 
remarked to be spiced with reminiscences of Valentino, 
and all his similies drawn from experiences in danc- 
ing-halls and estammefs. At times, too, when his reg- 
ular line of employment failed, he was accustomed to 
let himself out in the character of a chevalier du lustre, 
one of those susceptible gentlemen who are observed 
to occupy the parquette of a Paris theatre and oc- 
casionally clap with enthusiastic vigor. With all these 
amiable and attractive qualities, one could not pick 
up, outside of his profession, a lazier, more shiftless, 
and thoroughly worthless fellow. He will shirk re- 
spectable manual work of any kind ; to lie, cheat, and 
deceive are with him Spartan virtues of inestimable 
value. He has no principles, except those of the 
knave and the Red, and the idea of morality is as 
remote from his comprehension as Jean Guigon's 
fine sculptures on the Louvre. 

The ward, however, was in good order, and no 
further interruption occurred to break the quiet of 
the camp. More than once our visitors took occa- 
sion to testify their satisfaction with the neatness, 
commodiousness, and completeness of the arrange- 
ments. It was extremely gratifying, of course ; for 



SUNDAY IN PARIS. 37 

a word of commendation from the Baron was as good 
as a certificate from the Academy. They left us 
with strong assurance of the success of the enterprise. 

In the afternoon, after dinner, Frank and I were 
sitting out on the ofl&ce-platform in supreme enjoy- 
ment of the brightness and the sunshine, when Mile. 
Blanchard, neatly dressed and winning as ever, came 
tripping along with a gay invitation to take a turn 
round the Bois. 

" Qa ira !" said Frank rising lazily, "I say, you 
young man jump in with Mademoiselle, and see that 

* 

you don't ^' 

But I was already in the box with Celestine, and 
Achates was constrained to get in beside the pretty 
Jewess. 

" Monsieur Prettyman said I could take the coup6 
this afternoon," she remarked, " and so I took it. 
One does get so little fresh air in these horrid times, 
to be sure.'' 

" To be sure," echoed Frank. 

" I don't know what I should do — really I don't, 
if Cantatrice didn't take me to the Halles with her 
in the morning. Oh, the freshness of these morn- 
ings. And then, the crowds at the markets, the 



38 PARIS SKETCHES. 

piles of fruits and vegetables, the cries of the ven- 
ders, the pushing, the confusion, the hubbub/' 

*' As if I hadn't seen it all a score of times, " in- 
terrupted Frank j " you're thinking of something 
else. Mademoiselle, why don't you recognize that 
young fellow's salutation there ?" 

We were passing the entrance-tent, and Dupre, 
leaning on his cane, bowed distantly to the carriage 
as it went on. 

" Ho — ho ! " I heard Frank mutter to his fair 
companion. 

" Well ? " her lip was curling now and there was 
an ominous flash in her dark eyes. 

" What is the matter ? tell me, my dear." 

*' Oh, we had a quarrel, as usual. He made sl pastel 
of me, and then, forsooth, I couldn't see it; for — 
but these painters are such turkey-cocks profession- 
ally." 

" He's a battle-scene painter, is he not ?" 

" Yes ; he has some scenes from the Crimea, and is 
working up subjects from the sorties about Paris. 
He had a piece in the salon of last year, and the 
critics spoke well of it. Goupil thinks he will make 
his mark, but — pah ! — he wants money." 



SUNDAY IN PARIS. 39 

"You seem to take some interest in him," was the 
next careless remark. The large eyes looked at the 
speaker in wonder for a minute, and then, melted 
into an arch smile. 

" Of course ; why not ?" she asked innocently. 

" I suppose you might even love him, perhaps — 
eh ?" Frank was clearly a little out of his mind this 
afternoon. His indolent nonchalance, as he leaned 
back in the carriage with one hand in his pocket, 
and his eyes fixed on the heavens, as if intent on 
finding the dipper in the day time, was inexcusable. 
And what uncivil, not to say, impertinent personality, 
in that last allusion! 

" I suppose so/' How frank and matter of fact ! 
Alas, I thought, where is the bashfulness and charm- 
ing confusion at the acknowledgment of youthful 
loves ? But this girl was brought up and educated 
in France ; that is the point, and allowances must be 
made for difi"erences of training and feeling. 

" And pray, how many other devoted admirers 
have you. Miss Bl an chard ?" 

" Only one," she answered sweetly. " You know 
him, Emile Geradin; he was up to the Ambulance 
last Sunday, the young fellow with the light whiskers 
and beautiful eyes. He's in a glass factory — I 



40 PARIS SKETCHES. 

detest factories of any kind — and yet Monsieur 
Buchand, the proprietor, says lie's doing well." 

" And you like him better than ?'' 

" Please, monsieur, haven't I made full confession ? 
Well, yes, no, really I don't know. Dupre took me to 
the Opera the other night." 

" Opera !" Frank said enquiringly, for the first 
time looking the girl squarely in the face, " what 
Opera?" 

" Why Victor Hugo's Chatiments ; haven't you 
heard it yet ? 

" Pish ! But, I say — my dear, I say — supposing 
now I should get down on my knees, and swear to 
love you with all the devotion of " 

" Alors, alors, mon choeur bondira ! mille accords. 
Mille voeux dans mon choeur retentiront alors," was 
the vivacious rejoinder. 

" Grood !" cried Frank, laughing heartily. 

" And you Monsieur Baldwin, — what would you 
do ?" How charming she looked, reclining there on 
the cushions of the coupe in her tasty riding-robe, her 
pretty little mouth puckered up so demurely, and 
her black eyes gleaming tenderness and trust ! 

" Hem I" Frank was playing idly with his tooth- 
pick, and scarcely noticed the pretty beseechingness 



SUNDAY IN PAKIS. 41 

of the Jewess, and what was this air he was hum- 



ming ? — 



" C'est un enfant gate, peut-etre, 
Mais un enfant gate, pour vous," 

were the words he sang. 

Cruel ! but he was repaid with usury. The jew- 
elled fingers of the young coquette fell smartly across 
his ears, and Celestine turned in amazement to learn 
the cause of the uproarious laughter behind. 

Meanwhile we were fairly out on the avenue de Y 
Emperatrice with the Bois looming up over the bar- 
ricade, directly in front. The afternoon was bright 
and sunny, and good citizens had turned out for their 
wonted promenade; and looking back on the long 
gray stretch of the spacious avenue, you could see, 
scattered hither and yon, groups of pedestrians who 
seemed hardly to creep along. Not a carriage of any 
description was in sight. It was no longer the gay 
and crowded highway of by-gone days : the stream 
of ever-changing life, the press of elegant landaus, 
and tandems, and liveried coaches, the glitter of dress 
and fashion, the Imperial equipage, the celebrities 
of the demi-monde, the mingled splendor and mean- 
6 



42 PARIS SKETCHES. 

ness, the pomp, the mirth, the shoddyism and nobil- 
ity, — had all passed away as if they had not been. 
Think of it ! does it not seem as if this desolation 
was sent as a just punishment for all the sin, the 
folly, the heartless scepticism, of this Vanity Fair ? 
The scene is very different now. 

Here citizen Jean of the Bourgeoisie, with wife 
and children looking happy and sociable, passes 
along; there a white-capped '^ bonne" in charge of 
a lot of rosy-cheeked youngsters, who are racing on 
the grass with a frisky little terrier; now it is a 
squad of Mobiles, devout, sober, orderly, and gaping 
about them in wonder ; again a party of gaudily 
uniformed officers, the Bobadils of the army, strut- 
ting along with fierce moustaches and jingling spurs, 
inane, foppish, and shallow-brained. Some are on 
their way to the Bois, others to the bastions to visit 
friends doing guard-duty for the day. Many will go 
to Pere Lachaise to crown Cavaignac's grave with 
immortelles, and many more to the heights of Tro- 
cadero to get a fifty centime peep of a Prussian senti- 
nel. The Sabbath is their fete-day ; all Paris then 
dons its holiday habit, and saunters forth for a stroll or 
a ride. The cafes are more brilliant and crowded than 
at other times, and the opera opens in the evening 



SUNDAY IN PARIS. 43 

with a programme of extraordinary excellence. 
Throngs of dissolute men and women, in their flaunt- 
ing trappings of shame, promenade the Champ Elysee, 
the boulevards are given up to pleasure, lorettes, 
and strangers, and the Cirque, the merry-go-rounds, 
and the cafh chantants are scenes of unrestrained 
meririment and sensual enjoyment. Work and play 
go hand in hand, and gossip, idleness, and lovemaking 
is part of the business of the hour. The Parisian's 
haven of rest is, not his own cosy room, with books 
and contemplation for companions, but the gardens 
of St. Cloud or Versailles. Bat amid all the mad 
whirl of pleasure and frivolity, the cloyed heart of 
the stranger goes back, with an infinite sense of relief 
and satisfaction, to the sweet memories of the quiet 
New England Sabbath, as the heart of the weary, 
wandering Clavoyard is said to go back longingly to 
his native mountain-home. 

Turning into the Bois, we drove down the avenue 
des Acacias. It was a sorry spectacle at first, the 
woods being entirely swept away for some two hund- 
red yards beyond the ramparts, with nothing but the 
blackened stumps, to meet the view. On the side of 
Pre-Catelan to the borders of the lake, however, the 
park remained intact, except where here and there 



44 PARIS SKETCHES. 

a single tree had been rooted from a clump. The 
same sense of desolation, the same absence of life and 
cheerfulness, the same gray barrenness of aspect 
were here, as on the avenue de I'Emperatrice. Oc- 
casionally we passed a barricade, and once or twice 
caught sight of artillery camps in the depths of the 
wood. The lake looked dreary and neglected, the 
tea-houses and saloons were untenanted, and the 
gardens had gone to waste. 

And so the pleasant afternoons of September wore 
away. There was little to do but bask in the warmth 
and sunshine of the season, and while away the hours 
of idleness as best we could. It was in those days 
that Frank and Martinez used to drive round in 
their four-in-hand English box and take us out on 
delightful drives to Neuilly, St. Denis, and the Bois, 
and many a flying hour did we spend in the company 
of Kent, wandering through the historic scenes of 
Paris and learning the legend of each stone and 
square. But October came at last, and with it a 
change in the monotony of our life, a change in which 
there was something both of the bitter and the sweet, 
as there is in all of our joys and sorrows. 

One quiet Sabbath evening, while we were sitting 
in the volunteers' room, singing some of the old 



SUNDAY IN PARIS. 45 

hymns that seemed so sweet and full of meaning now, 
Frank broke into the apartment in evening dress. 

" Helloa !" was his hurried greeting, " aren't you 
fellows going round to Madam Moulton's this even- 
ing r 

" Who's going to be there ?" asked Kent, running 
over the notes of the Stabat Mater. 

" Ohj magnates, wits, parvenues, pretty women " — 

" I don't care about it," Kent replied quietly. 

" And you ?" he said, turning to me. 

" Thank you, Frank, I don't care about it either." 

" Peste ! See here Kent, there's something behind 
all this," said Frank, looking closely at him, " What's 
up?" 

Kent laughed. " Well," he said, " you have guessed 
it ; there are rumors of an engagement at the out- 
posts." 

" Rumors are rumors, and they don't prevent you 
spending a sociable evening." 

" Perhaps not ; but look out, my dear Achates — 
lovely night, is it not ? too lovely to shut one's self 
up in a close room, confess now " 

"Aha, I see — I see; you are for the fortifica- 
tions — eh ? 'Tis not my vocation, Hal ; adieu, mes 



46 PARIS SKETCHES. 

cters," and in anotlier moment the lively fellow was 
off. 

And tliat evening we walked out to the Rue des 
Ramparts, and looked round for the usual stir among 
the soldiers there. It was a clear, still, moonlight 
night, and the earthworks looked dim and lifeless. 
Here and there faint lights streamed from a canteen, 
where some National guards were regaling themselves 
on warm coffee and a bit of brown bread. Mobiles 
were pacing their beats in the corner of the bastions, 
and others bivouacked beside their packs with their 
greatcoats on and their rijfles piled up near by. In 
the quietness of the hour, the tramp of patrols pass- 
ing and repassing could be heard very distinctly, and 
now and then the cry of " Sentinelles, prenez-garde • 
a vous" rang out clear and melodious on the night 
air. The expected engagement was not to take place 
that night evidently, nor the next, nor for several 
nights yet. But one evening later, the whole camp 
was roused by intelligence from the Intendant de- 
partment. There had been skirmishes in the vicin- 
ity of Rueil and Malmaison, and word had come at 
last to be in readiness for active service on the 
morrow. 



MALMAISON. 47 



CHAPTER IV. 

MALMAISON. 

± HE morning of the eiglitli of October rose bright 
and clear. Orders had been received at head-quarters 
to be in readiness to move, and the whole camp was 
consequently in commotion. The volunteer service 
was larger than it had ever been before, and more 
completely equipped. 

Each aid wore the usual navy cap with its shield 
bearing the red Geneva-cross, and the regulation 
brassard about his arm. The carriages were under 
the immediate command of an assistant surgeon, 
while the charge of the whole corps was entrusted to 
the head physician and a member of the committee. 
Each assistant surgeon was also supplied with the 
requisite amount of surgical dressings, and carried 
about his person all the necessary instruments for 
the temporary care of a wounded man on the battle 
field. An abundance of food and wine had been 
stowed away in the carriage holds, the water tanks 
filled, the bags of bandages and lint and the bottles 
of stimulants laid away, and all the preparations 



48 PARIS SKETCHES. 

seemed to have been completed. But we had still to 
await orders as to our first destination. They soon 
came. 

An English gentleman, his long white whiskers 
streaming in the wind, galloped furiously up to the 
gateway, and directed us to make as speedily as pos- 
sible for the Porte Dauphine. 

" Hark !" he cried raising his hand as an injunc- 
tion for silence, " Do you hear that V 

For a moment we listened, and then the dull roar 
of artillery, which had become so familiar a sound, 
but which in the hurry and bustle of preparation had 
been forgotten, broke upon the silence with an 
ominous roll. It was our tocsin. Every carriage 
was instantly manned, and in another minute the 
whole train with flags flying was dashing down the 
avenue de I'Emperatrice to the Porte Dauphine. 

At the drawbridge all was quiet and undisturbed, 
and the guard directed us to drive at once to the 
Porte Maillot. Here the train was blocked up by an 
excited crowd, and word was sent to us to await 
further orders ; which orders, when they came, al- 
lowed only three of our carriages to advance, our 
carriage was unfortunately the fourth. 

" What the deuce is Wolf after ? he's the Intend- 



MALMAISON. 49 

ant here, isn't he Monsieur Eienzi ?" asked Frank. 
" It's all a piece of his red tape, I'll wager a franc." 

" Diavolo ! he is ze wolf no doubt, but he have 
the sheep's head to-day," and the Italian in his hasty, 
impetuous manner, jumped from the carriage, strode 
up to the Intendant's quarters, and disappeared within 
the door. In a little while he returned to us with 
an exultant light in his dark eyes : he had been 
successful in obtaining permission for one more con- 
veyance to proceed. 

The lot falling on us, we got all in readiness, and 
drove up to the gate as though to pass through. 

" Ha !" cried out a dapper little officer, posting 
himself in a military attitude in our front, " Qu'est 
ce que vous faites la ? arrettez, m'sieu ; arretez, je 
dis." 

" Que fais-je ?" retorted the quick-tempered Ital- 
ian, taking offense at the Frenchman's address, — 
" Parbleu I mais qui etes-vous que vous osev nous 
arreter ? allez, cocher, allez." 

But the coachman could not drive on, and it is 

difficult to say what would have been the termination 

of the squabble, had not an aide-de-camp of the In- 

tendant at this moment rode up and ordered that the 

7 



50 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

carriage be allowed to pass. As tlie officer reluctantly 
gave way to let us go by, the eyes of the two disput- 
ants met. Oh, it was comical — the malicious scowl 
on the face of the one and the leer of triumph on 
that of the other ! These passionate natures force 
the bubbles of deep feeling to the surface. 

We had hardly gone a hundred feet beyond the 
drawbridge, when loud shouts of " Vive la Eepub- 
lique !" " Vive E,ochefort !'' drew our attention to the 
barrier whence they arose 3 and just in time to see 
the gentleman thus enthusiastically cheered, darting 
through the crowd and doffing his hat to acknow- 
ledge each salutation. He hastily joined two gentle- 
men in advance, and they were about to continue 
their walk together, when they caught sight of our 
carriage, and signaling to us to stop a minute, ap- 
proached and jumped in. They shook hands with 
Signer Kienzi at once, and he, with characteristic 
politeness, introduced them to us as Messrs. Ferry, 
Pellatan, and Rochefort. They honored us with a 
condescending nod, and we sank back on our seats 
vvith the pleasurable satisfaction of having been re- 
cognized by the chiefs of the nation. 

M. Jules Ferry was a gentleman of middle age, 
with a high forehead, intelligent eyes, a firm mouth, 



MALMAISON. 51 

long whiskers flowing to either side, and having a 
general expression of shrewdness, promptness, and 
practicableness. M. Pellatan, also a member of the 
government, seemed a much older man, and there were 
white streaks in his hair and beard and furrows on 
his cheeks and brow. The broad and serious, but 
not striking features, conveyed the impression of 
honesty and sincerity of purpose, though lacking in 
energy and liveliness. Rochefort, at that time, was 
slenderly made, with a large, long head, narrow brow, 
a thin, sallow, passive countenance, prominent cheek- 
bones, and large, deep, rolling, glassy eyes — the 
most remarkable characteristics of the man. 

During the ride, Rochefort seldom spoke, remain- 
• ing gloomy and abstracted ; Pellatan edged in an occa- 
sional remark, but always, with mildness ; Ferry did 
all the talking, and seemed never to permit his viva- 
city to droop or his responsibilities as a member of 
the government to depress his flow of spirits. Be- 
fore we reached the Place du Trone we had joined 
the rest of our train. The Plage was filled with 
ambulances vohntes, and there, on halting, the re- 
presentatives of the government were received with 
repeated acclamations by the staff" and volunteers. 
Upon the granite base in the center of the Pla§e, a 



52 PARIS SKETCHES. 

temporary wooden platform had been erected, as a 
kind of elevation from whicli to view the movements 
•of the troops and the progress of the contest : thither 
M. Rochefort and his colleagues, followed by a num- 
ber of our corps, ascended. 

While awaiting the word of departure, Frank and 
I stole away to the fortifications, and stood near one 
of the bastions where the men were discharging a gun 
of heavy calibre. Numbers of boys " en blouses" 
were loafing about the powder-magazine, watching the 
artillery-men, and thrusting their fingers in their ears 
when the cannon was touched ofi". Peeping through 
one of the apertures, we could see that the barricades 
rose up perpendicularly some thirty feet, and that 
beyond the empty moat there extended for a consi- 
derable distance an open marsh — a kind of natural 
protection against approach and surprise in that di- 
rection. It seemed impossible for an enemy to come 
within miles of such a battery with impunifcy. In 
the distance, loomed the unbroken line of hills, which 
were held by the Prussians ; and now and then a 
puff of smoke could be seen, followed, after an in- 
terval, by the dull report of the gun. The troops were 
on the way to action, and so we hastened back to the 
Pla9e. 



MALMAISON. 53 

It was at first impossible for us to proceed, the 
road being so jammed with ambulance trains ; but 
when the facts of our situation were made known at 
head-quarters, a speedy answer came, in the person 
of Dr. Sarrazin, who dashing up on his famous bay, 
shouted in a stentorian voice : 

" L'ambulance Americaine en avant !'' 

And to the front we went, passing by scores of 
great, lumbering omnibuses, and out upon the unob- 
structed avenue. This little incident established a 
precedence for us, for ever afterward we had the 
honor of holding the van of the French army trains. 

Passing the barricade at the other end of the Pla§e, 
we took the road to Nanterre, and, after a short ride, 
turned off from this, and jogging over an uneven 
potato patch, finally emerged into a rising meadow 
backed by vine-yards and crowned by an old gray 
mill. At the summit of the hill, we halted to rest 
the horses ; we were really, without knowing it at 
the time, on the field of battle, under the very guns 
of Mont Yalerien. 

An open expanse of grain-field sloped down before 
us, till it ended in an abrupt knoll. Here the French 
reserve was stationed with Trochu and some others 
in the rear. A little in advance, on a rising piece of 



54 • PARIS SKETCHES. 

ground, we saw t^e battery whose guns shook the 
hill as we were ascending. Away in the distance 
rose the wooded heights and earthworks of the 
Prussians ; and there, too, ran the aqueduct of Marly ; 
from which, it was said. King William, the crown 
prince, and staff, were watching the progress of the 
struggle. The atmosphere was sulphurous, and the 
heavens clouded with smoke ; the woods occupied 
by the enemy, were alive with puffs of artillery ; and 
now and then the big guns of Mont Yalerien shook 
the ground beneath, and made the affrighted horses 
snort and plunge. The shrieking shells shot over- 
head ; and whirling on, struck with a dull thug 
among the enemy's redoubts. Affairs began to look 
more like work ; the aids equipped themselves for 
service, the volunteers got out their brancards, and 
the train pushed forward again, but slowly and cau- 
tiously. 

We had gone but a little way when a body of 
horsemen were made out approaching our position. 
As they drew nearer, another halt was made, and the 
Dominie rushing out, shouted as they came abreast 
of us : 

" Which way shall we go, sir ?" The whole staff 
slackened its speed — for it proved to be Ducrot's 



MALMAISON. 55 

brave army staff — and tlie general reigning his steed 
back on its hauncbes, replied in strong, full tones : — 

" Move oh, sir ; move on V and signing to bis aids, 
away tbey galloped again, and soon disappeared be- 
neatb the brow of tbe bill. The- minute after an 
aide-de-camp returned, and pointing to tbe French 
and American flags which waved from the wagon- 
tops, 

" For heaven's sake, gentlemen, take down your 
flags : the general commands it," be cried hoarsely, 
and then striking spurs into his horse, and wheeling 
round, sped away through tbe high grain in the di- 
rection the staff had taken. The flags came down 
instantly. 

Leaving tbe wagons here, a number of the corps 
proceeded on foot. As we went on a remarkable 
panorama spread out to view. On one side was the 
battery of mitrailleuse, hard at work and barely al- 
lowing the cannon to cool ; one's heart stood still 
when these fearful engines of war shot forth their 
fatal missiles — rattling, roaring, whizzing, shrieking, 
till they were lost to the eye in the far off woods with a 
final hiss and almost imperceptible crash. The gun- 
ners, grim, stout, blackened, dirty, hungry-looking 
fellows, plied their task well and rapidly ; watching 



56 PARIS SKETCHES. 

with eager eyes the effect of each discharge, and 
when success crowned their aim, grinning among 
themselves with horrible maliciousness, at the same 
time kneeling down to pluck a turnip, and then re- 
loading for another trial. On the other side was sta- 
tioned a regiment of the reserve ; and at irregular 
distances down the left, other regiments were stand- 
ing at order arms. It was one of these inexplicable 
blunders which the French commanders committed 
not a few times during this unhappy war — thou- 
sands of men being placed in range of the Prussian 
batteries and unprotected from their fire. Beneath 
and to the right lay the village of Nanterre, looking 
like a chess-board with its neat white houses ranged 
in regular rows. The streets were entirely deserted, 
and the whole place still and lifeless. Further on 
was Rueil, with the spire of its pretty parish church, 
where Josephine and Hortense lie buried, rising con- 
spicuous over the flat roofs of the dwellings. To the 
left, ensconced in the dark clump of trees, could be 
seen the chateau of Malmaison, Napoleon's old home, 
and after that the famous chateau of Buzenval, and 
then the park of St. Cloud. 

The object of this sortie, like all others, was to 
make a breach in the circle de fer environing the 



MALMAISON. 57 

city, and this with the hope of joining connections 
with the army of the West. The point of attack 
which the French commanders had chosen, was Mal- 
maison, the park surrounding the old chateau being 
in the possession of the enemy ; so that to seize upon 
this vantage-ground became the primary aim of our 
troops. The detachments under Martenot detailed 
for this duty had passed Nanterre and Eueil, and at 
the moment we were viewing the situation from the 
hill, were in the vicinity of Malmaison. Thierrard 
with his franc-tireurs and engineers had pierced the 
wall on the east and entered the park, was the next an- 
nouncement, while the same operation had been suc- 
cessfully performed on the south-west side by some 
mobiles of the garrison of Mont Valerian. But lo ! 
the foe had " decampe" ; not a Prussian was to be 
seen. 

It was at this moment we caught sight of the red 
liners forcing their way across a cleared space. They 
were evidently pushing on to Bougival. But it was 
only for a moment, for the next, they were hidden in 
the woods. The batteries were fearful to hear now. 
Mont Valerian, towering up in the smoky atmosphere, 
was like some gigantic demon ; its shells fell thick 



58 PARIS SKETCHES. 

and fast, and the air seemed to vibrate with their 
awful whiz-z and whir-r and crash. The gunners 
at the battery had caught sight of something — what 
it was we couldn't tell — and were firing in rapid 
succession. At times, between the roar of the great 
guns, the rattling volley of musketry could be heard. 
That came from the plain of G-ennevilliers, where 
Ribeaux with his eclaireurs were engaged, on the 
banks of the Seine, in uncovering an ambuscade on 
the other bank of the rivei . They were doing splen- 
didly, we heard. 

Here a part of our corps left us and moved down 
the slope to Eueil. They were evidently excited by 
the scene, for we could hear them singing as they 
tramped on — '' Marching through Georgia ! " — at 
the top of their voices, — Will Dryer's high tenor 
and the gruff basso of Captain Bowles being easily 
distinguishable. Cheer after cheer rose from the 
French reserve, and all along the line. 

" What's that for ? " called out Frank to a return- 
ing squad. 

" Les Americains ! " a voice replied. Our friends' 
enthusiasm had aroused their admiration. 

But we had seen all there was to be seen, and 
Frank and I started with the first carriage-load. We 



MALMAISON. 59 

drove carefully, for the poor fellows were suffering 
severely, and the slightest jolt made them cry out 
with pain. It was far into the night when they 
thundered across the draw-bridge of the Porte Maillot. 

" Hola ! de quelle ambulance etes vous ? " By the 
glare of the torches we saw the gleam of an armed 
guard. 

" L'ambulance Americaine ! " 

" Passez." 

Inside the walls were assembled an anxious crowd. 
With some difficulty we got through the press, and 
at last drove into the ambulance grounds with our 
wagon- load of sufferers. 



60 PARIS SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER V. 

PB0FE8S0B LA BBUTEBE. 
\J\jD Professor La Bruyere had been a mnch-es- 
teemed friend of ours in America. He was a fine 
old French gentleman, and a scholar of varied culture. 
During his exile he had ever been reserved on points 
relating to his personal history, and none of us had 
ever been inquisitive enough to injure the feelings 
of one who was so polished a gentleman and so jovial 
a companion by attempting to penetrate his reserve. 
It was only known that he had been unfortunate in 
his political career. We had met him several times 
in the streets of Paris since the investment of the 
city, and each time he had urged us, with all his 
warmth of manner, to come out and see a lonely old 
man at Passy, who hadn't any friends in the world. 
So one bright afternoon Frank and I took it into our 
heads to go and pay him a visit. 

The professor was sitting in his old arm-chair out- 
side the door of his cottage, enjoying the sunshine 
of the day and the solace of his long-stemmed pipe. 
There was a settled calm on his jocund countenance 
and a quiet content in his light blue eye. He was 



PROFESSOR LA BRUYERE. 61 

now an old man, with partially bald head and a beard 
streaked with gray ; but he looked the very picture 
of comfort and serenity as he sat there, absorbed in 
a kind of dreamy contemplation of the quickly-dis- 
solving rings of smoke, which, curling through his 
gray moustaches, rose circling in the air. 

'■'• Messieurs, very happy — very happy indeed to 
see you ; come in I '^ and the professor reddened with 
pleasure as he rose up to greet us ; but the next 
moment his shaggy eye-brows contracted and an ex- 
pression of pain shot across his features. 

" Pfui, that cursed rheumatism — pardon, mes- 
sieurs ! Fm growing old you see, and the ills of old 
age will come on. Well, well, I'm glad to see you — 
(never mind the chair ! ) — come in, come in ! " And 
with the courteous hospitality of an old French 
marquis, he led us into his apartment, and went 
ransacking his cupboard to give us cheer. 

It was a pretty little room. The walls were co- 
vered with pencil and crayon sketches and water-colors 
of his own design, and a few choice oil-paintings of 
living artists. Here and there was a rare bronze or 
perhaps a statuette. Around the mirror were pho- 
tographs of favorite pupils, tastily grouped in twos 
and threes. In one corner was a guitar, a broken 



62 PARIS SKETCHES. 

flute, and a pile of music; in another, a fishing rod, 
shot-gun, pouches, nets, and canes. The table was 
strewn with paper, inkstands, curious weights, paints, 
crayons, tobacco-pipes, and ashes ; and above the 
table the professor had constructed an ingenious 
book-case where was displayed his small and select 
stock of literary lore. From the old pressed sofa in 
the corner to the curtained alcove behind which 
gleamed the white coverlet of the professor's couch, 
there was a bachelor-like air of comfort and elegance. 

" You like that painting, ah ! It is a gem of a sea- 
scene in its way, is it not ? Your excellent Monsieur 
Hart gave it to me for some slight service of mine. 
That was after I left the state of New York. You 
see. Monsieur Frank " — 

But he had found the wine now, and his reminis- 
cences of the civil war, which we feared were about 
to be rehearsed again, subsided into a mutter about 
the " old woman and slavery." 

" Now Monsieur Louis, for you I have this little 
thimble-full of Paxarete ; it is very sweet, and is 
fabricated at Xeres in Spain, — very choice, too, I do 
assure you. N^est ce pas bon ? Eh bien, it is neces- 
sary to sip it slowly, drop by drop, to catch the 
divine flavor of it, and now Monsieur Frank, you must 



PROFESSOE LA BRUYERE. 63 

content yourself with this glass of Sauterne, (The 
glass is finely cut, you see). You like not the Bor- 
deaux, and positively I have nothing else in my cellar. 
As for the professor — hum ! he thinks he will take 
a little of the sherry — your English sherry is adul- 
terated, Monsieur Frank — with a little of the 
mixed in, and that is good, too — but not so good as 
the Lacrimae Christi that comes from the vineyards 
of Vesuve." 

While chatting in his pleasant, Frenchy way, the 
professor had hand-ed us each our portion with a 
grave bow. It was like being entertained by a king, 
or better. He had launched on his favorite topic of 
wines, and it was edifying to listen to his eloquent 
descriptions of the sunny vineyards of southern 
France. Pretty soon, however, he took up his pipe 
again, which he had laid aside in the heat of lively 
recollections, refilled, and relit it, and retreated to 
his comfortable arm-chair, sinking down smilingly 
between its well-padded arms, while we seated our- 
selves near by. 

" But of all the cheap pleasures that garnish my nest, 
There's one that I love and cherish the best. 
For the finest of couches that's padded with hair 
I never would change thee, my cane-bottomed chair." 



64 PARIS SKETCHES. 

Those were the lines we read fancifully engraved on 
the back of the chair. 

" Ha, ha ! well, 'pon my soul, where on earth did 
you pick up that doggerel, Professor?" laughed 
Frank. 

" Eh, doggerel ! It is from ze Thackeray; I will 
show you, no ? Well, I love him : he is like our 
Beranger, and he is full of humor and drollery — 
no ! I mean sarcasm. I do not understand him 
sometimes — hut it is all the same. He is true Eng- 
lishman." 

And so from talking of the poets of France and 
England we wandered off on the unfortunate topic 
of the political relations between the two countries ; 
unfortunate because it was one which the professor 
felt deeply and personally as a good republican. To 
make the matter worse, I ventured to suggest that 
the real position of Great Britain was not yet so de- 
fined as many thought, but before the sentence was 
ended Frank caught the word from my mouth, and, 
in his bold, dashing way, went off on a mad tilt 
against all Englishmen and English ideas of justice, 
and closed with a tremendous shock on the wrongs 
of France. 

While he was speaking a wonderful change came 



PROFESSOR LA BRUYERE. 65 

over the old man. Tlie mildness and gentleness of 
his face had vanished, and now it was white and 
colorless, now red with indignant anger. The blue 
eyes grew hard and stony, his moustaches curled 
fiercely under the nervous fingers, and his whole 
frame trembled with suppressed rage. The man was 
in one of his ungovernable passions. 

" Stop ! what do you know of the wrongs of poor 
France — you, a stranger and with English blood in 
your veins ? Tell me — have you sufi'ered yourself; 
have you been imprisoned ? Has your property been 
confiscated ? Have you been in exile ? Have you no 
heart ? then, why do you put this devil in my heart ? 
look ! " and he grasped the cottage-door with his 
powerful hand, and slammed it back on its hinges 
with a force that made the walls tremble, and at the 
same time pointing to two woodcuts, one of Napoleon 
and the other of Bismarck, now from oft repeated ex- 
pectoration stained and spotted with spittle, continued 
in a hard, bitter tone : — 

" There are the authors of our misery — bah! 

(Here he spat contemptuously on Napoleon's nose). 

Who is Bismarck ? All the world knows. Who is 

Napoleon III ? Ah, you do not know. Tenot says he 

9 



66 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

was born in the Tuilleries : that is a lie. Victor Hugo 
says he was born in a hovel. No ; I will tell you ; 
he was born in a lottery-hall. He was a child of 
mystery from the beginning, and has been a creature 
of chance all his life. What was it that raised him 
to the throne of France ? ma/oi, I know not. An 
ill-jointed, dreamy, contemptible stripling, with his 
mother's weakness and his father's dullness, he swung 
off on the tail of his uncle's comet, and so came flar- 
ing into the world. What had he done ? He was 
in the insurrection in Italy. oui ! and in '36 he 
made his attempt on Strasburg. There too, was the 
affair of Boulogne, with the invading army of har- 
lots and adventurers. What blunders all the way 
through ! Do you see any genius in this man ? He 
was a fool. Louis Philippe understood him ; he 
locked him up in Havre. There he learned to be 
knave. He was in New York afterward ; what did 
he do ? nobody knows. He was in London, too, and 
what was he there ? I will tell you ; a wretched con- 
stable. Do you not believe it ? Look here — ' Louis 
Charles Buonaparte * * * * qualified and sworn as 
special constable for the parish church of St. Clement 
Denis.' But what is that ? He became prince presi- 
dent, is it not so ? And then ! Then forgery, bribery, 



PROFESSOR LA BRUYERE. 67 

corruption, violence, and blood — blood — blood ! 
And the coup d'etat was over, and that night of 
the 4tli of December Louis Napoleon sat in his cabi- 
net noir at the Elysee smoking his cigarette — 
emperor of the French !" 

Exhaustedby the violence of his emotions, the old 
man sank back into his chair, from which he had 
risen in his frenzied harangue, and sat for a long- 
time in silence and with bowed head. We had never 
seen him so strangely agitated before, and we dared 
not break in upon his mood. It was long ere he 
spoke again, and when he did, it was in an entirely 
different tone of voice, and yet it seemed a continua- 
tion of his former train of thought, uttered musingly 
at first. 

" Ah. that winter of '53 ! People said it was a 
gay season ; yes. there were carnivals, and balls, and 
fetes and hunts, and operas, rolling round in Paris- 
ian pirouette — but I saw the grinning skull behind 
them all. The Bourgeosie thought sure the golden 
age had come, and stood in its door rubbing its hands 
and chuckling over the rapid influx of wealthy stran- 
gers, and the peasants ! Dull Jacques from the pro- 
vinces was there dreaming of free trade and abundant 
harvests. Bon Dieu ! how could he know that 



68 PARIS SKETCHES. 

liberty of traffic was not liberty of speecli and fran- 
chise ? All tbe foreign powers bad sanctioned tbe 
new dynasty, except Russia — and Russia ! Wby, 
monsieur tbe Frencli minister felt bimself insulted 
by tbe Muscovite envoy, and was indignant tbat 
tbe autocrat of tbe Russias sbould presume to 
address His Imperial Majesty Napoleon III in tlie 
haugbty and ceremonious terms of " Mon Amie" in 
place of tbe usual formula — " Mon Frere," ' and 
Herod was troubled and all Jerusalem witb him !' 
Paris was tbe same as now. oui ! Tbe boulevards, 
tlie Cbamps Elysees, tbe gardens of tbe Tuilleries 
were just as tbronged. Tbey came flocking from tbe 
batbs of Germany and tbe gaming-tables of Ham- 
burg to salute tlie new emperor. Napoleon III. Bab ! 
tbe world is tbe same all around. But some tbings 
have changed, and that is always sad, you know. 
Tbe old Rotonde, and the Yefour, and tbe Trois 
Freres are deserted now ; you should have seen them 
once. Tbe gardens and fountains of tbe Palais 
Royal — there where wit and scandal went hand in 
hand and hommes biases and grisettes used to meet — 
where are they ? Helas ! never more shall these 
old arches ring with fun and frolic, and Yalvassor, 
and Sainville, and pretty Madame Schnivaneck are 



PROFESSOR LA BRUYERE. 69 

gone, too. Yalvassor ! yes, lie was inimitable. But 
there was another — Rachel. Ah, messieurs, that 
little black-eyed creature called many a bravo from 
this parched throat and many a tear from these dim 
eyes, and she is gone. Pooh ! what am I talking 
about ? Mille pardons — you see I forget myself; I 
do not know what I say." 

He ceased, and bustled round again to find his 
tobacco-pouch. All his bienseance had returned 
again, and he was the same congenial old gentleman 
as at the first. But the twilight was coming on 
apace, and we felt obliged to say that our time of 
taking leave of him had arrived. Before going, 
however, I happened to refer to Josephine in con- 
nection with her flowers, and the allusion called 
forth another pleasant reminiscence of the professor's. 

" Josephine — ah, yes I Josephine at the Tuille- 
ries — there was grace, loveliness, and vivacity ; 
Josephine among the poor peasantry of Ptueil — 
there was sympathy and charity ; Josephine in the 
bosom of her family — there was true womanhood, 
if there ever was any such thing. Josephine cher- 
ished flowers — yes, there is her garden at Malmaison. 
And she loved — great God how that woman loved ! 
She would leave her flowers, she would sacrifice Hor- 



70 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

tense — slie sacrificed herself — for Napoleon. How 
else could slie have assented to that ill-assorted 
marriage between King Louis and Hortense ? The 
king of Holland — heavy, drowsy, inactive ; Hortense 
beautiful, witty, fashionable. What a match I But — 
pardon, let me not detain you any longer ; I see that 
you are anxious to go. Forgive the tattle of an old 
man." 

We laughingly protested against his suspicions, 
and urged him to continue, it seemed to give him so 
much pleasure ; but the old man was firm, and could 
not be moved from his determination. So we begged 
for a song in the way of a farewell. The request 
pleased him, and catching up the guitar, he thrummed 
for a minute on the strings, and then sang in a 
mellow tenor, marvellous for a man of his age, the 
exquisite song of Be.ranger. 

*' Adieu, charmant pays de France 
Que je dois tant cherir ! 
Berceau de mon heureuse enfance, 
Adieu ! te quitter c'est mourir." 

We had noticed on leaving the professor's a faint 
pink glow in the southern sky, but had attributed it 
to nothing more than a change in the weather or 



PROFESSOR LA BRUYERE. 71 

temperature. As we walked on, liowever, under the 
stars, the glow spread and deepened, and there shot 
up fitfully into the blue ether dim volumes of smoke, 
until, almost before we were conscious of it, the 
whole southern heavens were enwrapped in the red 
glare of fire. The tower of Notre Dame stood out in 
clear, black, pencilled outlines against the sky^ the 
dome of the Invalides was all ablaze, and gleaming 
like some gigantic, brazen helmet in mid-air; all 
Paris was bathed in the far-reaching tints of the 
flames. What was it? where was it? we shouted 
to flying citizens, and no answer came back to us. 
Hurrying on, we passed the Forte Maillot, and in a 
few minutes, stood at the barricade in the avenue de 
I'Emperatrice just below the barrier d'Etoile. There 
a noisy crowd was gathered, and cries of " St. 
Cloud — St. Cloud V passed from mouth to mouth 
like electric shocks along a wire. The report was 
subsequently confirmed; the old chateau was in 
flames. 

We hastened on again to the Pla9e de la Concorde, 
in hopes of getting a view of the conflagration from 
the roof of one of the buildings there. But the doors 
were closed, and we were turning away in disappoint- 
ment, when there came up from the Rue de Rivoli 



72 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

the mingled sounds of many voices and tramping 
feet. As tlie tumultuous mass came nearer, tlie 
lamps shone on the beardless faces of thousands of 
rough looking lads and brown bloused artisans, sweep- 
ing along the streets with frantic enthusiasm and 
fierce eagerness depicted in their looks and gestures. 
At first a mere chaos of discordant screeching, with- 
out sense and without rythm, arose from the surg- 
ing multitude; then as the van of the mob ap- 
proached, was heard the wild, stern air of the 
Marseillaise. They call this a hymn — this martial 
air of E-ouget de Lisle's, inspired by wine and im- 
provised on his claricord, as he went staggering 
through the streets of Strasbourg on a cold win- 
ter night in ^92. It is a hymn of terror ; burdened 
with glory and patriotism, it has as often led to crime 
as to victory. The vast significance of the song 
throbs in the music, and the words themselves are 
harmless. No historian can catch as vividly as this 
chant breathes the spirit of the reign of terror ; it 
seems the spontaneous outburst of the universal heart 
of Paris. 

" What's all this ? " Frank asked of a National 
guard beside him, pointing to the mixed procession. 



PROFESSOR LA BRUYERE. 7 



o 



" Ce sont les pupilles de la republique," he replied 
sarcastically. 

They passed, shouting and screaming, one strophe 
here, another there, and soon their cries and tumult 
were lost to the hearing, and the streets quiet and 
undisturbed as before. Walking home, we thought 
once more of the lonely old man at Passy, whose life 
had been so exact a type of his country's history. 
Ever with his fine tastes and high ideal of beauty and 
right, he had been aspiring toward the higher, and 
ever the effort seemed to bring him lower. Is it 
true that revolutions — and what are these petty 
manifestations of the multitude and the struggles of 
individual hearts, but revolutions ? — is it true that 
they are the expression of a universal longing for 
better things ? If so, and it is the kindlier view 
after all, let us judge this people more leniently. 
Mrs. Browning has a fine line to the Florentines, 
which might be equally well applied to the French — 

" A noble people who, being greatly vexed. 
In act, in aspiration keep undaunted.'^ 



10 



74 PAEIS SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER VI. 

A NIGHT IN THE WABD8. 

wNE night Frank and I were detailed to keep watcli 
in one of the tents. It was a still, starlit evening, 
and the moon sailed high and full in the clear blue 
of the heavens. A peaceful quiet reigned over the 
camp ; the gentlemen-volunteers had departed long 
ago, and only the echoing memory of their songs lin- 
gered ; here and there a light glanced to and fro for 
a minute, and then sank again into gloom. In the 
stillness of the night and with the moonbeams strik- 
ing in a flood of mellow mist on the tented field, the 
camp looked like some mystic, white-pavilioned city 
of an eastern fairy-tale. 

Within the barrack a single lamp burned, and its 
glimmering rays were cast on the long rows of brown- 
quilted couches, and fell athwart the burned face of 
some sleeper, or a brawny arm thrust without the co- 
verlet. Every shoe and sack and chair was in its 
proper place : order and neatness were conspicuous 
in all the arrangements. The deep breathing of the 
men was the only sound to disturb the quiet. An 



A NIGHT IN THE WARDS. 75 

hour ago it had been different. Lights streamed 
from every partition-pole, and eager shouts of cinq ! — 
neuf ! — quinze ! — le diable ! — c'est a moi ! — 
heno I — rang through the ward. They were playing 
at the strangely fascinating game of keno, which is 
the special delight of the French soldiers of the line 
and guard. In the midst of the excitement, the can- 
vas-door of the barrack had been parted, and the 
shrill alto of Madame Bernois announced " Le 
Major !'' and instantly every red nightcap and every 
blue kepi had been doffed, and, as they turned again 
to their game, a murmuring echo of "le major" had 
gone round from mouth to mouth. 

Very pleasant it was to see — the grateful respect 
of these poor soldiers. They had nothing else to re- 
turn for services done, so they simply offered the in- 
cense of their large-hearted love and gratitude. This 
was particularly true of the brave Bretons. Into 
the eyes of these stalwart, bearded men big tears would 
start as they said good-bye to the friends who had 
cared for them so long. Now there was Doucet who — 

" Dreamer !" thundered a voice close beside me, 
" Where's that nigger of yours ?" 

I had been dozing. It was only the doctor come 



76 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

to make Ms niglitly round, and lie had but whispered 
in my ear. 

" Sam !" I exclaimed, starting up conscience- 
stricken and ashamed. ''Why, he^s over there by 
Diderot." 

Advancing a ways, by the light of the, lamp, we 
saw the darkie kneeling near the bed, his head buried 
in his arms and to all appearance zealously engaged 
in his evening devotions. Before I could divine his 
purpose, the doctor strode a pace, grasped the kneeler 
by the collar, and shook him on his feet in a twinkle. 

"Eh — what — who" — blurted the poor fellow, 
rolling round his eyes in the endeavor to collect his 
drowsy wits. 

" Sam," said the doctor, " what does this mean ?" 

" Eh! I were jes saying my prayers, sah j" the 
demure innocence that peered out of the large whites 
of those eyes ! 

" Look here, Sam." 

" Yes sah." 

" Are you asleep now ?" 

" No, sah." 

" Are you drunk ?" 

" No, sah V 

" The poor fellow over there's dying, — go !" 



A NIGHT IN THE WARDS. 77 

The darkie went away grinning to his post, and 
tlie doctor, saying lie would be back witbin a half- 
hour to see the dying man and giving directions for 
his care, passed on quietly through the tent, and we 
were left alone again. 

Cosson — that was the man's name — was uncon- 
scious now, and moaned and talked incoherently; 
his face was palid and his breathing thick and heavy ; 
but there was to an inexperienced eye no sign of death 
about face or limb. So I returned to my post and 
waited. Waiting for death ! you don't want it to 
come and yet sit waiting for it to come. It is some- 
thing like that strange inconsistency of desire that 
leads us to mourn that life is so short, but to wish 
many a weary minute over — those priceless drops 
that go to fill the cup of existence. The scenes we 
had gone through may have hardened or accustomed 
us to forms and thoughts of death ; at any rate I 
felt no fear, though in its very presence, perhaps. 
After all the doctor might be mistaken ; he never 
yet had been, to be sure, but then it hardly seemed pos- 
sible that one who was warm with the pulsating blood 
of life, whose heart but yesterday was throbbing with 
hope and feeling, should pass away so very suddenly. 
He was such a fine fellow, too, and could God take 



78 PARIS SKETCHES. 

him away from tlie earth where he was needed so 
much ? I looked at my watch. If the doctor was 
coming — 

"Quick, quick, Massa Frank; he's gwine." It 
was the voice of the negro, but husky with emotion. 

We hastened immediately to the bedside, and 
stooped down to examine the body. Yes ; he had 
gone, and his journey was ended. 

As in the case of hundreds of others, nothing was 
known to us of his life-history. He had been a 
zouave, and had served in Eome, Syria, and Algeria — 
that was all we knew. His strong, square features 
were of the dusky hue of the chasseur d' Afrique, and 
his beard long and bushy ; large, gray eyes peered 
out from under the shaggy brows and shone with a 
warm friendliness of expression. He had drawn us 
to him by his contemptuous indifference to pain, and 
his kindly joviality of manner, and how his com- 
rades would miss him ! Everyone knew the fragrance 
and fashion of his tightly-rolled cigarettes, and his 
hearty laugh had often cheered the whole ward. But 
he was gone now. In his last strong agony he had 
clutched the blanket, and now held it fast in his 
closed fist. He was a man of large and muscular 
frame, and as he lay there in the dim lamp light. 



A NIGHT IN THE WARDS. 79 

one could not help thinking of Tennyson's fine pic- 
ture of tlie warrior Geraint : — 

" And bared the knotted column of his throat, 
The massive square of his heroic breast, 
And arms on which the standing muscles sloped 
As slopes a wild brook o'er a little stone. 
Running too vehemently to break upon it." 

He had been struck off in his manhood, and none 
knew who hd was or whence he came. Perhaps few 
cared to know ; he was but one of a great army — a 
grain of sand on the sea-shore. The strange thing 
that had so inexplicably come into being and which 
had animated the livid face and warmed the glazed 
eye a few seconds ago, had as inexplicably gone out 
of being — gone out to meet its Maker. 

An hour glided by. The doctor had come and 
gone, and left us alone once more. Two or three 
times we passed out into the deep quiet of the night, 
and looking up into the stars, talked together of the 
present and dreamed of the future. It was in re- 
turning from one of these stolen moments of relaxa- 
tion that we found Madame Bernois in the entrance 
of the tent. 

" How's Cosson ?" she asked. 



80 PARIS SKETCHES. 

" Dead V 

" Pauvre enfant ! I was afraid so ; and Diderot ? 

" Quiet now." 
• " Bon ! lie's one of my pets, you know ! lie calls 
me ma tante^^ and so saying slie passed on into tlie 
darkness at the other end of the tent. 

" I wonder what that woman's come over here 
for," growled Frank. 

" To see the Ancient Mariner, I presume." 

" He isn't one of her patients." 

" No ) but she takes considerable interest in him." 

The Ancient Mariner was one of the pets of the camp. 
He was so called because he had the glittering eye and 
skinny hand of that strange man of Coleridge's tale ) 
there was a wild flightiness in all, his actions, and 
when he talked, his eyes shone with a mingled frenzy 
and kind of frightened stare. Ungainly in form and 
of a moody and reckless disposition, he had fought 
like a very demon on the battle-field, and received 
no less than nine wounds in different parts of his 
body. Most men might have died of these compli- 
cated injuries, but the mariner was very unlike the 
majority of men ; he was one of those fierce, restless, 
plucky natures, which seem to have some inner moni- 
tor that, like Barnaby fudge's raven, keep croaking — 



A NIGHT IN THE WARDS. 81 

" Never say die ! " He clung to life with tlie mar- 
vellous tenacity of animal instinct, and yet without 
a single fear of death that men in his position are 
frequently led to express. He was a Mobile, and 
like most of the Mobiles, a pleasant lad, honest, igno- 
rant, hard-handed and impulsive. 

Beside him lay a wounded National Guard. He 
is a sleek, respectable, money-making merchant from 
the Rue Yivienne, and has his shop and family to 
care for. He thinks it well enough, for a while at 
least, to sport round in a natty uniform, to repair in 
the morning to the Palais Royal or the Champs de 
Mars to drill with his company, to manifest at the 
statue of Strasbourg with bouquets, speeches, and 
huzzas, and perhaps to sleep in the barracks over 
night with only a blanket and a couvre a pied. But 
you know one gets tired by and by even with playing 
at soldier. Besides, business is at a standstill ; he has 
already lost considerably, and the quarter rents are 
coming in soon. He is, in every sense of the word, 
a moderate : his sentiments are diametrically opposed 
to geurre a Voutrance. He cannot very well mount 
guard at the outposts, for who would protect his 
hearth and home ? He is in favor of sorties en masse^ 
11 



82 PARIS SKETCHES. 

perhaps, but then, you see, how is it possible for him 
to be forward in action, when his first and chief 
duties are those of a father and a husband. He 
would rather throw down his arms, and surrender, 
than have the Prussians invade Paris with fire and 
sword. 

To this man — the contemptible outgrowth of a con- 
temptible system — the Mobile is really not related. 

" Mark his condition and the event ; then tell me 
If this might be a brother." 

They both speak the same language, and are classed 
under the one exceedingly convenient class of Celt ; 
but they differ from each other, as the Wall street 
broker differs from the Hudson river valley farmer. 
The one has been brought up amid this gilded system 
of espionnage and corruption ; the other, in the whole- 
some atmosphere of the vintage, under the watchful 
eye of his cure. One has, by the sharp practices of 
trade, become shrewd, politic, and artful ; the other 
carries with him the guilelessness, the sobriety, the 
simple-mindedness of his provincial life. In war, 
one is hardy, faithful, orderly ; the other delicate- 
handed, unstable, reluctant to labor. The National 
Guard and the Mobile are indeed types of the city and 



A NIGHT IN THE WARDS. 83 

the Province, and, by the way, it is as unreasonable 
to judge the French people by the Parisians as it 
is to judge a provincial by a citizen. 

" Hark ! " 'Frank had jumped up and was peering 
into the farther end ef the tent. 

At the same instant, we heard suppressed whispers, 
soon a sounding kiss — a smart slap — a curse — a 
laugh — and through the gloom a man's form rushed 
past us. 

" The she-devil ! " he muttered aloud. 

" Who was it ? " asked Frank excitedly. 

" I couldn't tell; he passed too quickly." 

" Didn't Warnock say he was going to watch with 
Lebord at that end of the tent, to-night ? " 

" Yes," I was obliged to say. 

" It's very strange." 

" What am strange ?" spoke out a familiar voice 
at our elbow. 

"Why, Madame Bernois," Frank answered, for it 
was she, " what was all that hubbub about, a little 
while ago ? " 

" Eh ! — I catched him — yah, yah ! Massa War- 
nock, he will try to kiss me, and I — las ! I hit him 
such a box on the ear — did you hear him ?" and slap- 



84 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

ping her hands together in great glee, Madame was 
gone like a flash. 

"Lou," begun Frank, after a long interval of 
silence, during which we had been lying down to 
catch a little sleep, " was that Zouave — Cosson — 
married ? " 

I had to confess my ignorance, and he sank again 
into silence. What could he be thinking of? help- 
ing the widow in her bereavement ? It would be just 
like him ; he was supplying his poorer neighbors 
with houillon gratuitously now. He hadn't the pa- 
tience to sit and read of an afternoon to a bed-ridden, 
wounded man ; but then he would stake five francs 
on a game of ecarte and lose it on purpose. 

"Lou!" 

" Well ? " I answered quickly, hoping to get at 
the object of his question. 

" We are very near to Grod here." 

Now Frank was never troubled with religious 
fears at all, so I said with some surprise, and think- 
ing now of the death of Cosson. 

" We are indeed." 

" And to the devil," he added. 



MADAME BERNOIS. 85 

CHAPTER VII. 

MADAME BERNOIS. 

W HATEYER mystery there had been in last 
night's proceedings, it was cleared away the next 
morning, with entire satisfaction to all parties con- 
cerned. It was a mere piece of pleasantry on the 
part of Warnock, and had met with rather a sting- 
ing rebuke from the irascible Madame, who, however, 
apologized for it in her blunt way when she happened 
upon the offender in the morning. So, despite the 
civil sneers and innuendoes of certain prim old ladies 
in the camp, Madame still retained friends and favor 
at court, and mutual understanding and good humor 
were completely restored.. 

Breakfast was scarcely over the next day, when 
she was observed crossing from her dominions to the 
ambulance. She came tripping daintily over the 
muddy places, her head thrown loftily back, her dark, 
oval face shining, and her pearly teeth glistening be- 
tween the full red lips. Ah, Monsieur May, thou 
painter of portraits, is she not a queen in her way, 
this quadroon ? Men say she was comely before the 



86 PARIS SKETCHES. 

variola left its pock-marks in lier skin, and even now, 
though inclining to corpulency, her form is of the 
exquisite mould of southern beauty. She passed 
over, entered the gate, and was going by the entrance 
of one of the tents when the well-known burden of 
a street song, accompanied by the clatter of a pair of 
heels, came to her ears : — 

" Je suis un Republicaine." 

sang the solo in a high key. 

" Oui," replied a chorus of voices. 

" Mais pas un Socialist" continued the voice. 

" Non," croaked the chorus, with considerable 
emphasis on the negative. 

"Hey — what's all this?" demanded Madame, 
firing up, as she stepped into view, and threw around 
her glance of offended majesty, withering the group 
of infirmiers that sat there plucking sea-weed and 
stuffing mattrasses. 

" Madame," began Alphonse, who appeared to be 
the maestro of the orchestra, and had evidently been 
capering about the boards to beat time to the music. 
But he got no further. 

" Mlez vite ! and get to your work," was the stern 
command ; and the dancer slunk away wincing under 
her look. 



MADAME BEENOIS. 87 

Satisfied witla this exliibition of her authority, the 
quadroon went on with a lighter step and more 
queenly mien, directing her footsteps toward the 
kitchen. In the doorway stood Cantatrice, and the 
very presence of the two boded mischief of some 
kind. For once upon a time, after that the former 
chef de cuisine had been dismissed on a charge of 
petty larceny in camp, Madame had been placed, pro 
tern., at the head of the department, and for a while 
had ruled her army of tins and kettles and bare-armed 
attendants most royally and well. She was an ex- 
cellent cook, and every inducement was held out to 
her from head-quarters to retain the position ; but 
one day, after a series of provoking annoyances, aris- 
ing from the malicious influence and scheming of 
certain outsiders, aliens to Israel, the persecuted 
woman came rushing into the Pharmacy, where the 
doctor and several aids sat in converse, and with 
wrathful eyes and outstretched hands, exclaimed in 
her broken English, the words quivering on her lips 
in the excess of her rage : — " How you tink it 
looks — eh ? Tink dis chile goes over dar in de — de 
cuisine any more ? Non, non, non ! Don't catch dis 
chile dar again. Why you laugh — hey? Don't 
you see it ruin my hands so I can no play de piano ? 



88 PARIS SKETCHES. 

Wat you tink on dit when dey see driving on de 
avenue ? Eli bien, voila la femme qui — wlio cooked 
for de ambulance Americaine. Dis cbile cook for 
de ambulance no longer — dar ! " wbich meant, 
stripped of its sophistry, partly that Madame was 
tired of playing chef and wanted something else to 
do, but chiefly that she wanted to escape the nest of 
hornets, where she was vexed and thwarted by Can- 
tatrice, Mrs. Cass, Jasienski the Pole, and others, of 
the same brood. Nevertheless, having once swayed 
the sceptre, Madame had now and then taken occa- 
sion to demonstrate to the camp that, despite her 
abdication, she still held no little share of the im- 
perium in the culinary department; and hence her 
clan-like raids upon the larder were rather more fre- 
quent than even the regnant chef, good natured 
as he was, could brook with impunity. 

It was with the air, then, of a former mistress, that 
she approached the kitchen entrance. 

" Well, what do you want here ? " asked Canta- 
trice in French, confronting the quadroon with a most 
provoking smile. 

" Mademoiselle, is the chef within ? " she said, 
restraining the ire that was so sure to break in flashes 
from her eyes, if it came at all. 



MADAME BERNOIS. 89 

" Qui salt ? " with a slight shrug of the pretty 
shoulders, and a silvery laugh. 

" Tu sais bien," was the quick retort. 

The singer winced a bit at this insolent famili- 
arity, then broke out into one of her tantalizing 
laughs, hard and ringing as metal. 

" Does Madame want to see the chef particularly? " 
she said. 

''Does Mademoiselle want a box on the ear — hey?" 

" Madame is facetious." 

" Mademoiselle is insolent." 

^' Oh, you saucy wench ! to come over here amocg 
decent people and — " 

" Mademoiselle's mouth is too large for her head." 

" Tra-la-la, merci ; it can serve its purposes well 
enough." 

" If they're the Devil's — yes ! " 

" Mais, Madame wishes to see the chef?" 

'*Ehbien?" 

" Ask Monsieur Warnock where he is." 

" And not Monsieur Jasiaski ? " was the spiteful 
retort. 

" Pauvre enfant ! I will have you on my last bead 
to-night," and with a pealing laugh, Cantatrice re- 
tired. 



90 PARIS SKETCHES. 

Madame passed into the kitclien, but was thence 
attracted to the dining. room by the sounds of a voice 
which she had good reason to know. It was just at 
the close of the morning meal, and the gentlemen of 
the staff were still seated about the table, and at 
present listening to the Pole, who stood in the center 
of the room, waving a piece of paper, and talking 
loudly. He was commonly a mild, well conducted 
personage, but this morning his soul was stirred 
with the glory of triumph, and he seemed inflated 
proportionately. 

" Zere I is it not very good ? fifty-one kilos — ze 
hon is for fifty- one kilos, messieurs. I got it by 
a coup d'etat of my own. It is a good morning's 
work, n'est ce pas ? " 

Indeed Jasienski was jubilant. As purveyor to the 
hospital he had proved himself useful in procuring by 
personal solicitation of the public such necessaries as 
coffee, sugar, chocolate and wine ) but to obtain an 
order for any large amount of beef required the 
higher arts of diplomacy, the honor being in the 
same ratio. Now in this, as in other matters, the 
Pole and Hienzi the Italian often came in conflict, 
and the rivalry between them was bitter and unceas- 
ing. On the morning in question, Jasienski had 



MADAME BERNOIS. 91 

succeeded in drawing an order for fifty-one kilos, and 
had returned to display it to the assembled ambu- 
lance, particularly, perhaps, for the benefit of the 
Italian, who was sitting quietly apart, with an ex- 
pression on his countenance impossible to define. 
He was observed, too, to be restive and uneasy as 
the Polish gentleman went on with his talk. 

'• Zis is all, then,'' he concluded, triumphantly, 
looking" askance at his dark-eyed rival, " and Made- 
moiselle may go and get ze meat directly. It is no 
leettle matere to get fifty-one kilos of fresh beef." 

" Tenez ! " cried the Italian rising all of a sudden, 
and addressing the other, " let me see your hon.'' 

" No, monsieur, I cannot," he replied withdrawing 
a step or two. 

" Diavolo ! — I don't believe it's good. Monsieur 
Pole." 

" Does monsieur doubt my word ? " 

" Let me see it then." 

" I will not." 

" It must be stale horse-meat — assuredly, it is 
horse-meat." 

" No, no — I tell you no ; messieurs, do not trust 
his insinuation." 

"Sacr-r-r-r " 



92 PARIS SKETCHES. 

" Monsieur, the cure is in the room." 

" Peste ! what is fifty-one kilos, any way ?" 

*' Can Monsieur get fifty-one kilos V 

*' Ha — ha ! " 

" Can Monsieur get more than fifty-one kilos ? re- 
peated the irate Pole emphatically." 

" Per Bacco ! " the other exclaimed, leaning over 
the table with flaming eyes, his very hands trembling 
with the eagerness of passion, as he pulled out of his 
breast-pocket a piece of crumpled paper, and shook 
it exultingly in the Pole's face. " Yoila — voila ! 
mon ami — a hon for one hundred and twenty 
kilos." 

"'One hundred and twenty kilos !" shrieked the 
bewildered purveyor. 

" One hundred and twenty kilos," was the answer. 

" 'Tis false." 

'' ParUeu!" 
' " It's a forgery." 

" Eh ! " 

By this time quite a crowd had collected in the 
doorways, and even the chef with his attendants had 
abandoned the pots and boilers to witness the squab- 
ble. Seeing this, and fearful that it might result 
more seriously than at first anticipated, the Dominie 



MADAME BERNOIS. 93 

interfered, and attempted to arrest the progress of 
the quarrel which it bid fair to become. While yet 
the reverend gentleman was engaged in his difficult 
task of arbitration, Madame, who had heretofore kept 
unnoticed in the shade, watching for her opportunity, 
glided softly out of the room, entered the deserted 
kitchen, ransacked the closets, and finally decamped 
with a paper of Leibic and a few pounds of beef. 

A few minutes afterward she stood in the stately 
hall of the chevalier's maison. 

" Jacques — Eugenie — Theophile ? " cried her 
majesty shrilling. 

A white cap appeared above the stairway, and — 
•' Madame ? " said the head cook of the household. 
Then Jacques, the fratteur, came, and finally the 
" bonne,'' hobbling along in her sabots. 

" Theophile," commanded madame rapidly in 
French, " take this beef, and have it well done — 
well done — do you understand. And you, Eugenie, 
bring down some more sheets and pillow-cases — 
don't touch those cases on your life — and here are 
the keys — go !" and as the two departed on their se- 
parate errands, " now, Jacques, where are the con- 
fitures you promised me ? Come, no lying, sir." 
" Madame," replied the little withered man, with a 



94 PARIS SKETCHES. 

preliminary shrug, " it was impossible for me to do 
anything." 

" Coquin I " 

" Non, Madsbme, pardonnez moi — " with a comical 
screw of the shrivelled lips, " I could not really/' 

" Why ? — tell me the why, miserable,'' exclaimed 
his angered mistress. 

" The ' Major ' was there—" 

" Gro and tell the ' Major ' himself what you want, 
ignorant. Did you suppose I sent you to steal V 

" Eh Men ! that was just what I thought," he 
said under his breath, gazing after the vanishing 
form of his mistress, with a sly wink of one eye. 

A strange compound of shrewdness and ignorance, 
of humor and dullness, is Maitre Jacques, the old 
peasant man of the Haute G-aronne. His pinched, 
sallow, wizened face — with its firm mouth, double 
chin, knotted throat and twinkling gray eyes, is 
a study for the artist. Despite his shoulder-stoop 
and wrinkled skin, his sinews and muscles are yet 
tough and elastic, for he is of the long-lived and well- 
preserved race. His occupation is to polish floors, 
which he has followed, like his father and his father's 
father before him, from his youth upward, and never 
dreams of changing or rising from a profession which, 



MADAME BERNOIS. 95 

like that of cLiffonier. is hereditary in the family. After 
waxing the oaken hoards, he jumps upon his polisher 
and by a peculiar twist and forward movement of the 
body, propels it onward, and so over and over until 
the surface is shining like the mirrors of the Maison 
Doree. But to return. 

Half an hour later, Madame was in her own ward, 
bending over the attenuated form of a boy not over 
sixteen years of age. On the bed lay a tray contain- 
ing a dish of Leibic, a plate of beef, and a desert of 
coffee and confitures. Young Frangois had been 
struck in the hip by a fragment of shell while peep- 
ing through an aperture at the fortifications, and 
being brought to the maison, Madame had made him 
her special charge. It vvas an inexplicable mystery 
to us how she came to be so attached to the poor 
lad. Day and night she watched over him ; his 
sufferings seemed to become by her intense sympathy 
her own sufferings. She fed him, and dressed his 
wounds, with her own hands, and none else but the 
Major was permitted to touch him. For the boy's 
sake, she would scold the servants, and deceive 
the aids, plunder the lockers, and even go so far as 
to confront Mrs. Cass's righteous wrath. But all her 
care, her watching, her tenderness, proved unavailing. 



96 PARIS SKETCHES. 

One cold night in January, poor little Frangois was 
released from his pain and suffering, and all the 
night long, the devoted woman kept her vigil, grief- 
stricken and alone, with the cold corpse. 

It was in the cool of the summer mornings, long 
after the siege, and but a few weeks after the com- 
mune, that Madame told me the story of her life. 

She was the natural child of a mulatto girl and a 
New Orleans smuggler. Her mother had been kid- 
napped from her home in Louisiana, conveyed to 
France, brought back again fortuitously, rnade the 
wager of a desperate gambling game, and thus finally 
bartered into slavery to satisfy a master's whim. Her 
father, whom she unwittingly represented to be a bold, 
reckless, unprincipled ruffian, was by profession a sea- 
man, and was in the habit of making voyages to the 
Mexican coasts, purchasing contraband goods, and 
smuggling them through the custom house, to be sold 
at auction in the streets of New Orleans. Helen — 
that was the name of the offspring of this ill-starred 
liason — could not, according to the statutes of the 
New Orleans slave-law, be separated from her mother 
until she had reached the age often, and consequently, 
when sold by her quondam master, mother and child 
were sold together. They were bought by a Mr. 



MADAME BEKNOIS. 97 

Percy, for the sum of one thousand and eight hun- 
dred dollars. 

It was in this gentleman's house that the child's 
troubles seem to have begun. On one occasion she 
was ordered to scour the table-knives; on her mis- 
tress's return, she had succeeded only in burnishing 
the blades and rendering the rust-spots more indelible. 
Incensed at the girl's ignorance, and perhaps, further 
irritated by the sharpness of her tongue, though 
Madame would not acknowledge that, Mrs. Percy 
caught up one of the knives, apd threw it with con- 
siderable force at the white face of the trembling 
culprit. It left a gash, the marks of which she car- 
ried through life. It was not a new kind of treat- 
ment to the child, and still bleeding, and wild with 
pain, she rushed screaming into the street. There 
was little help for her ; she was forced to return to 
the house, and the daily routine of abuse and rebuff, 
which was the slave's inevitable portion in not a few 
of these southern families. 

Her connection with the Percy's, however, was 

severed soon afterward. She had requested of the 

mistress of the house permission to go out, and, though 

refused the liberty, persisted in the demand ; a vio- 

13 



98 PARIS SKETCHES. 

lent scene ensued ; the woman was angered at the 
child's obstinacy; in a fit of passion, she siezed in 
her grasp the long, black, glossy locks, and, despite 
the most desperate resistance, clipped them off hand- 
ful by handful, with a relentless cruelty that was 
characteristic of just such a woman as Madame de- 
scribed her to be. On hearing her tale, her father 
went directly to Mr. Percy's bank, accused him of 
maltreatment of his child, menaced him with the 
power of the law, and ultimately frightened him into 
a bargain, by which Helen was sold to her parent for 
eight hundred dollars. But she was still in servitude. 
Nothing will better illustrate several sides of this 
remarkable woman's character than the following an- 
ecdote, which she related with a candor and appear- 
ance of truthfulness hard to question, A woman of 
bad reputation — a poor unfortunate — was wounded 
in the streets, and nobody would take her in. Helen 
happening to be by, and seeing the destitute condition 
of the woman, had her carried to her mother's dwell- 
ing, and there, day by day, watched over and cared 
for her. Strongly opposed to her bringing home and 
nursing one of so disreputable a character, and find- 
ing her own expostulations unavailing, her mother 
at length prevailed on the parish priest to interfere. 



MADAME BERNOIS. 99 

" What ! " said Helen, in her bold, impulsive way, 
in reply to the solemn reproof of the churchman, 
" turn her out into the street ! Is that your humanity — 
your Christianity ? Who's your master, Monsieur le 
Cure ? Shame on you ! Show me where the woman 
can be cared for^ and I will have her taken there, 
but turn her out into the street I shame on you ! — 
No, I don't want your counsel.'^ She spoke in French, 
and no doubt well, as she always did when roused 
and indignant. She has been heard to rebuke a 
gentleman, her elder and superior, with an eloquence 
that, though rude and disjointed, was impressive at 
the time. It was supremely ludicrous when you re- 
flected on the circumstances afterward. 

She was still almost a child when she became en- 
gaged to a young Englishman, who lived opposite 
her mother's in New Orleans. There is little doubt 
he married the girl for her beauty ; nothing else, as 
far as one can see, would have overbalanced so com- 
pletely the common prejudices of blood and color. 
And in the bloom of her youth she was undoubtedly 
a beautiful girl. Even at the time we knew her, 
the clear-cut, regular features, the oval, smiling face, 
the wavy, black hair, the dark, rich hue, and the 
finely-developed form, showed signs of an alluring 



100 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

womanliood. She obtained her freedom, was married, 
and, in a few years — deserted. Tlie husband sailed 
to Europe, taking one child with him, and leaving a 
boy behind with the mother. The French law of 
marriage did not hold outside of France and New 
Orleans. Madame Bernois went to Paris. 

At Paris Madame found employment of a peculiar 
nature. It will be remembered that long before the 
Franco-Prussian war, Napoleon had in his employ a 
large detective force, and few, even of the friends of 
the empire, knew who these secret agents were, so 
perfectly was the system organized. In every public 
office, in every private household, it is said that there 
was at least one suborned spy. There is reason to be- 
lieve that Madame Bernois was enrolled on the books 
of this secret service. Yery few would have guessed 
that that dark, stylish little lady, who rode out to the 
Bois every afternoon in her phaeton, with a little boy 
richly attired by her side, was an emissary of the 
Emperor and a seamstress of the Princess Mathilde. 
Still less would the idea have occurred to you, could 
you have attended one of her reunions in the Boule- 
vard des Italiens. With untiring perseverance and 
resolution, Madame had taught herself to write a fair 
hand and to play passably on the piano ; she was 



MADAME BERNOIS. 101 

naturally a ready and vivacious talker, and what with 
her iron strength of will, her ready apprehension, 
and quick insight into character, and shrewd way of 
guessing at things, contrived to please and amuse the 
class .of people who frequented her salon, politicians, 
third-rate artists, and newspaper reporters. 

There is a story she used to tell in connection with 
the imperial family which I give in outline, though 
not able to vouch for its truth. The Princess Ma- 
thilde had several trunks of plate and jewelry in Eng- 
land, which she desired very much to have trans- 
ported into France, and with as much secrecy as 
possible. Madame Bernois was chosen for the en-^ 
terprise. She was, as I have said, needlewoman to 
the princess, and in France, this implies a closer 
relation than that of mistress and maid in America. 
It might be due to her fidelity as a serving woman, 
as well as to her cunning and artfulness, that she was 
selected for so important a trust; at any rate Madame 
was sent, and within a marvellously short time, the 
trunks of treasure were safe in the Tuilleries, and 
not a breath of suspicion raised. She had brought 
them across the channel, one by one, each time in a 
different disguise, and each time on a different line 
of boats. One can hardly give credence to this tale ; 



102 PARIS SKETCHES. 

it sounds too mucli like fiction ; and yet it is not 
much above the par of some of Madame's exploits 
during the Commune, which are known to have been 
performed. 

It is certain, however that this remarkable woman 
was, at sometime and in some capacity, associated inti- 
mately with those in power. The Archbishop recog- 
nized her when he met her in the wards of the hospital. 
Trochu shook hands with her. Sarrazin seemed to 
know her well, and Ricord nodded to her as he passed 
by. She was acquainted with nearly all of the editors 
who visited the camp. These, in themselves trifles, in 
Paris are big with significance. It will be noticed 
that with the overthrow of the Empire, Madame's 
fortunes declined ; and looking at this portion of her 
history, one comes all of a sudden to the undercur- 
rent of that great hidden life of Paris, about which 
we know so little. Yet she still had access to the 
Palace and Corps Legislatif For instance, we were 
desirous, before leaving Paris, of procuring some 
pieces of the imperial plate, as mementos of the 
fallen dynasty, and to whom should we apply but 
Madame Bernois. ? And she got what we wanted ; 
two or three huge servers of fine Sevres china with the 
golden crown in the centre, three or four finely-cut 



MADAME BERNOIS. 103 

tumblers bearing tlie crown, a pitcher "witli red de- 
coration, one with gilt edging and crown, and another, 
magenta decoration, with L. P., surmounted by the 
Bourbon crown. It is not easy to see how she could 
have secured this ware outside of the Tuilleries. 

She was indeed a most extraordinary woman ; the 
most opposite and conflicting elements seemed to 
meet in her character, and one seldom knew when 
to trust, and when to distrust her. Some would at 
once, without much forethought or deliberation, have 
pronounced her a bold, bad woman, but the judg- 
ment would have been uncharitable as it was unjust. 
To the wounded she was as tender and careful as a 
sister of mercy ; she treated her own bright-eyed 
little son with the harshness of fabled step-mothers. 
Scanning her conduct on the outside, one might sup- 
pose it to be shaped mainly by selfishness of aim and 
interest; but there were times when you could look 
into her heart, and say for certain, it were not so. 
She would spend days by the side of friends taken 
with the small-pox, and covertly carry provisions to 
those in need. Her motives were as evidently con- 
trolled by prejudice and partiality as by personal in- 
terest. She did indeed bow and cringe to a few 
superiors, and probably she had her reasons for it, 



104 PARIS SKETCHES. 

but she made distinctions on the grounds of like and 
dislike all the same. She liked and hated with equal 
intensity — the outgrowth of a warm, impulsive, un- 
restrained nature. Toward certain ladies who had 
opposed her entrance to the Ambulance, on the pre- 
text of color, she nourished a grudge as lasting as 
life ; her friends were the recipients of a thousand 
little acts of kindness and regard. To gain any end 
she had in view, it mattered not to what extent of 
lying and deception she was carried. Her ingenu- 
ousness, her bluntness of speech, her boldness and 
frankness of carriage, were only masks to a crafty and 
artful brain. From her bitter life-experience, she 
had learned to penetrate almost unerringly into the 
hearts and intents of men, and to conceal her own 
designs in turn. Her resoluteness and energy were 
truly wonderful, and for the developement of these 
qualities of mind, all her life seems to have been a 
school. Her fearlessness of opinion and promptitude 
in action carried her triumphantly over every obsta- 
cle, whatever its difficulty and magnitude. A wo- 
man, in whom there was something of good and a good 
deal of evil — a woman, who, with education and 
moral restraints, would perhaps have made a Madame 
de Stael politically — a woman destined to remain in 
the lower walks of life, a spy, and petty intriguer. 



A DAY IN CAMP. 105 

CHAPTER VIII. 
A DAT IN GA3IP. 

JuLO, to, ho ! do you hear what young Lesenne 
says V 

It was during the morning dressings in tent No. 
4. We had commenced our work earlier than usual, 
for' the Archbishop of Paris was expected to visit the 
Ambulance this morningj and bless the tents and men. 
Perhaps it was the expected arrival of His Holiness 
that had put the " boys" in such good spirits ; at any 
rate, whatever might be the cause, they were noisy 
and jubilant to an unusual degree passing the " mots 
militaires'^ from mouth to moath, with evident zest 
and spirit. This time it was the hoarse guffaw of the 
big zouave in the corner. 

" Quoi done !" called out Doucet from his bed, 
where he sat complacently dressing his stump of a 
leg. 

" He says he's got a pin in the big-toe of his right 
foot — ho, ho ! " 

Now poor Lesenne had lost his right leg on the 

field of Malmaison, that was all ; but somehow the laugh 
14 



106 PARIS SKETCHES. 

had got started, and exploded at the most pointless 
sallies. It was rather cruel in the zouave, too, though 
I'm sure he didn't mean it, for the young, fresh look- 
ing wife of the ampute sat by his side, and blushed 
red as a rose at the merriment directed against her 
husband. 

" Le Major will take it out for you," came from 
the other end of the tent. 

" Yes," said a fair haired, slender young Parisian, 
a corporal in the National Guard, and a good repre- 
sentative of the Bourgeois class, with his ready in- 
telligence, volubility, and quickness of apprehension, 
" yes, so he will, ma foi ! and, by the way, have you 
heard, comrades, what Buisson and those fellows in 
No. 1 said of the Major the other day ? " 

"No — no; dites — let's hear — what was it?" 
cried several. 

'' La petite mere told it to me; eh hien^ Lebars, 
you know, said the doctor was so good and kind to 
them, and Buisson — he speaks up and says : ' oui, 
but he's got one fault.' .' Eh, what's that V the rest 
cry out, and Lebars was mad, I warrant you. ' Why,' 
says Buisson, ' he don't speak French.' ' That's 
true,' some say; but Sol, the cute little fellow with 
the fractured arm — of the line, ain't he ? yes, I 



A DAY IN CAMP. 107 

thought so, well, he says, ' yes, that's so, but if he 
did, he would be perfect, and if he was perfect he 
wouldn't live any longer '.'' 

" Ha, ha ! hi, hi ! Pfui ! that beats you, Doucet ! " 
were the cries that went round. 

" Mon Dieu ! it was not bad," replied Doucet 
grumpily, " but — but I have my plan." 

" II a son plan 
Plan, plan, plan, plan 
Mon Dieu ! quel beau plan 
Je sais le plan de Trochu," 

sang the zouave, raising his great voice in song. 
The familiar air, a parody on Trochu's pedantic an- 
nouncement of his ''plan" was caught up immedi- 
ately, and hummed all round the ward. 

" Doucet ! — allons ! — the plan — the plan ! " — 
the boys shouted, when some degree of quiet had been 
restored. 

Thus called upon, Doucet, who was undeniably 
the dryest wag in camp, proceeded to pose himself 
for a speech. He doffed his fez, laid aside his cigar- 
ette, patted his stump, and in high, shrill tones, 
which grew sharper and more bitter as he went 
on, began : 



108 PARIS SKETCHES. 

" Messieurs — et mesdames (ou sont elles?), once 
upon a time there was a young eagle born in France, 
His sad flight was first winged at Strasbourg — 
what a flight was there, my comrades ! Time passed, 
and this eagle grew and strengthened ; and one day 
in his consuming lust for dominion and power, swept 
down upon Boulogne as upon a sheep gone astray. 
But forth came the ram of the fold, and showed his 
horns, and with his filthy crew the eagle vanished 
and fled into darkness. And from darkness he came 
again (is it not so ?) and lighted on the shores of our 
belle France. Quoi done ! we fed him, we fatted him, 
we petted him, we put him in a gilded cage (hisses) — 
oui ! in theElysee. But he swelled and strutted and 
plumed himself and became too big for his gilded cage ; 
he drew vultures and harpies round him, and through 
them, he made himself king and head of all the guile- 
less tribe of birds. Higher, higher still higher, he 
flew and circled, and then, on a sudden, darted down — 
whither ? down upon his own people — his own em- 
pire, and, surrounded by his parasites, dug beak and 
talon in that people's entrails — pah ! Thus gorged 
with flesh and drenched with gore, he perched him 
on the loftiest peak — the bloody-crested king of 
birds (loud applause), and so years and years this 



A DAY IN CAMP. 109 

mighty eagle governed all his clifiF and valley. But 
one day great eagles from the North came sweeping 
down — black, foul creatures with bristling beak and 
claw — and they pounced upon the old eagle, and car- 
ried him away, with all his splendid army, to the chill 
North, and then — and then coming, besieged the 
nest where the callow eaglets lay. Ha ! would you 
have the moral ?" 

A shout went up through the barrack — a shout 

in which something of mirth, bitterness, and ferocity 

were strangely mingled. The wit and humor of this 

people are inexplicable. All Paris laughs at the 

coarse and obscene caricatures of Alfred le Petit -, at 

the clubs the awful profanity and impious jests of 

the orators are received with applause ; the scurrilous 

ribaldry chalked on the tents in the jardin des 

Tuilleries excite the lauo;hter and afford amusement 

to the passers-by. Doucet was a born humorist, and 

saw things in the most incongruous light; but, like 

many other intelligent soldiers of the line, he felt 

that he was a wronged man, wheedled and gulled by 

his emperor. Consequently, his humor was soaked 

and soured in gall, as it were. He had put to his 

lips the sponge dipped in hyssop, and to a healthy 

mind, his fun was dry, caustic, extravagant. 



110 PARIS SKETCHES. 

But the laugh was loud and long, for it was some- 
thing the boys could understand and enjoy — this 
rude kind of parable, and Doucet settled contentedly 
to his task again, screwing his mouth into a pucker 
habitual with him after making a hit. 

Then there was silence for a while in the ward, 
until Doucet, apparently gratified by his success and 
willing to encourage, called out to Arnaud for a song. 
But there was another reason for the request, and 
some of us understood it directly. By the side of the 
orator lay a wounded G-erman — a tawny-haired, blue- 
eyed Saxon, Bruno by name, of manners so gentle 
and quiet and subdued that he drew us all to him. 
He understood not a word of the French jargon 
about him, and it was his wont, in the loneliness of 
his heart, when he could not have Keeler or Lisette, 
the Alsacian nurse, to talk to him, to talk or sing 
lowly to himself. He was in intense suffering, and 
this was about his only consolation. But the conse- 
quences of the custom might often have been un- 
pleasant for him, had it not been for Doucet, who 
when he heard rising louder the hum of those mili- 
tary airs, to which his foe had marched to victory, 
would drown it with a jest or laughter. He felt for 
the poor G-erman, and would save him from abuse 



A DAY IN CAMP. Ill 

and taunts; and so, when Bruno, at first lying still 
amid the uproar that followed Doucet's speech, at 
length fell into the familiar burden of the " Wacht 
am Ehein," humming it softly, and then, as the blue 
eyes brightened, in louder strains, the good-natured 
wag broke in with his boisterous demand for a song. 
The minute after, there arose from the other end 
of the tent, the quaint old melody of the " Depart 
pour la Syrie,'^ sung in soft, plaintifi" tones, rudely 
perhaps, but with genuine feeling. 

" Amour a la plus belle, 
Honneur au plus vaillaut,'' 

he sang, lingering on the last notes, and repeating 
them once more, the voice dying away as if loath to 
leave the sweet sounds. It was Arnaud, Maurice 
Arnaud, our Troubadour; he came from the south 
of France, and there seemed to be a mixture of Span- 
ish blood in his veins. He had a dark, rich com- 
plexion, with fine tints on his cheeks, jet-black hair, 
glossy and wavy, with moustache of the same, eyes 
large and dark, with a wonderful lustrous expression 
in them ; an almost feminine beauty, of a mild, inno- 
cent, gentle nature, he was wild, violent, uncontrol- 
lable during his fits of delirium. He spoke a sort of 



112 PARIS SKETCHES. 

Langue d'Oc, and Ms comrades could not always 
understand him ; there was a musical softness and 
richness of intonation in his 2^ atois never observable 
in the northern dialects of France. For the dreamy 
light in his eyes, and the tenderness of his manner 
when conscious, he might well be called a Troubadour, 
and indeed, be descended from those wandering min- 
strels of the middle ages. As he sang the Depart, 
those great dark eyes were full of fire and tender- 
ness ', he had fought stoutly, fiercely, as his nature 
prompted, and fallen with his face toward the foe, 
and now would the other stanzas of the song come 
true ? Would he recover of his wound, and go back 
to the provinces, and find his Isabella waiting for 
him there ? Were these his thoughts and hopes ? 
Alas ! if so, destined to meet no fulfillment. If the 
Isabella of his chanson shall ever see him more, it 
will not be in this world, but in another and brighter 
beyond, where our songs shall never end. Yet on 
the earth, God give us strength to sing : 

" Amour h la plus belle, 
Honneur au plus vaillant." 

The song had scarcely ceased when the Archbishop 
was announced, and the men relapsed into a respect- 



A DAY IN CAMP. 113 

ful silence as the door opened, and His Excellence, 
escorted by the staff, entered, and after invoking his 
blessing upon the ward altogether, walked around 
among the beds addressing the occupants. 

A large, mild, benignant face, full of strength and 
wisdom — that was all we saw, or cared to see ; one 
forgot the ecclesiastical garb, and the insignia of 
lofty pretensions in the presence of that countenance. 
There are good and pure men of every creed, and 
here was one evidently. Though his form was a 
trifle bent, and brows and cheeks somewhat furrowed 
with age, there was that in the glance of his eye 
and in the firmness of his step which told of 
vigor yet unimpaired and gave promise of years to 
come. But how sudden, how awful was the old 
man's death ! Among all the revolting acts of the 
Commune, there was none more revolting and terrible 
than the massacre of Monsieur Darboy and his col- 
leagues } among the resplendent heroisms in the an- 
nals of French history, there is none more resplendent 
and worthy to be remembered, than the unflinching 
courage and patient fortitude of this noble-minded 
man at the moment of death. A gentleman of our 
staff was with the archbishop, in his miserable cell 
15 



114 PARIS SKETCHES. 

at the prison of La Roquette, tlie last hour of his life, 
before he was summoned, in his long purple soutane, 
before those inhuman, blood-crazed ring-leaders of 
the Commune in the court-yard of the prison, and set 
up against the wall to be shot down like a dog ; and 
he declared to us that he was never in his life wit- 
ness to a calmness more supreme and an intrepidity 
more lofty, before the expectation of a violent end. 

He stepped among the beds now, and spoke words 
of comfort and encouragement to the wounded. In- 
stinctively you felt it was his vocation, that he was 
not unfamiliar with suffering, and understood the 
men and their needs. " Suffer like a Christian,'' he 
said to one severe sufferer (the very words are pre- 
served in the Semaine Religieuse) "for the sake 
of God and your country, in order to merit the palm 
of victory which Heaven reserves for all those who 
have performed their duty bravely, whatever be the 
results of their efforts here upon the earth." Thus 
from couch to couch he went, with helpful words 
and tender sympathy, adapting himself with wonder- 
ful readiness to the variety of wants and diversity of 
cares. Before leaving, we solicited his signature 
in the ambulance register, and he sat down, and 
wrote in a large, trembling hand, the simple title — 



A DAY IN CAMP. 115 

" TArcheveque de Paris," a truly modest autograph. 
We had had some swelling entries like the following : 
'' John Monel, Attache au Genie pour la lumi^re 
Electrique, 42 Rue Paradis Poissonni^re " ; or again : 
" Dr. Debout, Med. Tnspecteur des Eaux de Con- 
trexerille (Yosges) et a I'ambulance de Luxembourg." 
Let us honor true modesty and worth and manliness 
whenever we find them • let us reverence right-feeling 
and right-doing, be the " credo " what it may. 

There was a scene at the dinner-table that day of 
unusual dramatic interest. The first part of the meal 
had passed off very quietly, and we were lingering 
over our cafe noir, that is the doctor, the dominie, 
Rienzi, Cantatrice, Frank, and several others. 

There was one person, however, whom it' is ne- 
cessary to particularize more specially. Jasienski 
was a Pole, and, by his own asseveration at least — a 
Polish count. He had come to the ambulance in 
the early days of the siege, volunteering his services 
as an aid for the field. The committee was overrun 
with like offers, and was therefore obliged to decline 
them ; but the man continuing to press his suit, and 
finally offering to undertake any work to which they 
might set him, representing himself to be in poor 
circumstances and unable to gain a livelihood in any 



116 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

other way, they took him at his word, made no further 
enquiries, and put him to work on the grounds, trans- 
planting shrubs and laying out walks. He was a 
nobleman, perhaps, but what would you ? There 
was a philological professor of many languages already 
in the field. " Work, however humble, is never 
degrading," exclaims the gloved and perfumed cant 
of this nineteenth century ; but one day when the 
rumor spread that the mild-eyed, insignificant look- 
ing man, digging in the front grounds, was a count — 
really a count in his own country, it was strange 
what excitement the news occasioned. Now counts 
and countesses are sufficiently numerous in Paris, 
as every body knows, and one would judge that . not 
being altogether unlike other people, they would be 
treated like other people. What is more to the pur- 
pose, you are still among your own democratic 
countrymen, where no social distinctions of the kind 
are observed, you know. To be sure it was a little 
strange again, that Jasienski should all of a sudden 
be raised to the higher and softer position of pur- 
veyor to the hospital ; that the ladies should take to 
praising his polite and dignified demeanor ; that the 
gentlemen should be seen in attentive conversation 
with him. It was all a little strange, you see, but 



A DAY IN CAMP. 117 

then, as the dominie observed, with his wonted sa- 
gacity and insight into motives, it doubtless was due 
not to the influence of rank but the qualities of his 
mind. Surely that was the true explanation of the 
matter. The scholar of many languages did not 
possess these " qualities of mind," you understand, and 
so was still kept at work with his spade and pickaxe. 
Friends, is there not a smack of the great world in 
this little episode ? I wonder whether the dominie had 
read of Shimei, 

By-and-by, however, suspicions had arisen as to 
the truth of the rumor current ; unbelieving minds 
spoke out their infidelity, and the probity of the 
Pole was called in question. The doctor would crack 
his joke that — " may be he was a count, but he had 
turned out to be no a-count, as the French say," and 
Madame Bernois was heard to assert most vehemently 
" Jasiaski !" (so she called him) — " he's an ass, 
whatever else he am." The upshot of it all was that 
the poor man came to be looked upon with coldness 
and suspicion, shunned and reviled, also, by those 
who had once been on a par with him. 

His fall, and the consequent reaction of treatment 
and regard, affected him, most strangely of all. What- 
ever might have been the character and position of 



118 PARIS SKETCHES. 

the man in the past, when he first entered the ambu- 
lance, he was at least quiet, unobtrusive, and gentle- 
manly in conduct; but rendered prominent by the 
unfortunate disclosure of his rank, he grew to fancy 
himself quite an important and necessary personage. 
It was Malvolio living over again, with the disease 
somewhat mitigated by time, yet it was Malvolioism. 
The services he rendered henceforward, were ren- 
dered condescendingly, and with the air of one who 
was conscious of his superiority to menial offices of 
any kind. He preserved, even after his fall, the 
same calmness of mien, the same dignity of deport- 
ment, and the same affectation of imagined greatness. 
Now Jasienski, among other whims of his present 
mood, had for some time past been paying delicate 
attentions to Cantatrice, but that strong-minded and 
vivacious young lady had laughed him off in a most 
unlover-like fashion, using him only so far as he was 
serviceable in replenishing the general larder, and 
therein he was extremely serviceable, as we all 
could attest. Cantatrice herself was not in the least 
given to sentiment ; in fact the only occasion on 
which she was ever known to yield to any ex- 
pression of that tenderness and passion, of which 
the sex is said to be susceptible, was one day after 



A DAY IN CAMP. 119 

dinner wben she sang Leonora to Signor Rienzi's 
Manrico in Verdi's opera of II Trovatore ; and I feel 
bound to add that that unusual display of feeling, 
which quite overcame the tuneful Italian, who sat 
listening with ardent eyes upraised, was altogether 
and unquestionably feigned, for the dominie after- 
ward declared to us in private and in his paost solemn 
manner, that she actually winked at him when the 
tender Italian wasn't looking, yes, winked at him 
from the corner of her eye, twice or thrice during 
the duet. She was indeed a remarkable young lady, 
handsome withal, (except that her mouth was too 
large, and her lips too full, for beauty), with rich, 
olive complexion, dark hair, and dark eyes that 
glanced with fun, shrewdness, and good-nature; very 
outspoken she was, lively, active, and jolly, too, if 
not rather brusque at times, possessing a fine sense 
of humor, a merry laugh, and a high, clear soprano 
voice, which she had been cultivating for the stage. 
Few men would have the presumption or courage to 
make love to this girl, whose pathos and sentiment, 
if she had any, were wasted on the morning's mar- 
keting at the Halles, the superintendence of the 
kitchen, and the care of the linen department. For 
the Pole to undertake the siege of such a heart, and 



120 PARIS SKETCHES. 

to undertake it in his composed and deliberate way, 
as if the dot had been settled and the time of the 
nuptials fixed, was the crowning act of the farce. 
Something, we were sure, must come of it, and this 
is the way it fell about. 

We were lingering over our coiFee, I say, when 
Jasiens'ki, who had been, as was his wont, silent and 
reserved throughout the meal, suddenly, and without 
more preliminary warning, set down his cup, wrenched 
back his chair with a hastiness unusual with him, 
arose and stood erect, fumbled at his napkin with the 
left hand, thrust the other in the breast of his coat, 
and looking around on the amazed company calmly 
and unmoved, addressed the gentleman, who by rea- 
son of his clerical rank, occupied the head of the 
table in the following terms : 

" Monsieur Prettyman ; I have von leetle chose 
zat I wish to say to you in ze presence of zese mes- 
sieurs — von little chose where there is necessity for 
your services. You is a priest, is it not? and you 
can perform ze ceremonie of marriage in ze French 
language so I can understand — ah! Eh bien — zis 
is ze chose : I am in ze conondrum j I'sewant to get 
married/' 

It was very sudden. The man spoke with a 



A DAY IN CAMP. 121 

gravity wliicli raised him above the suspicion of 
being in jest; besides, he was never known to stoop 
to vulgar sport of that nature. The doctor looked 
curious; two little red spots appeared on the cheeks 
of Rienzi ; the reverend gentleman was all aghast. 

" Well ?" he managed to articulate at length, as 
the speaker stopped to give due emphasis to his 
announcement and to collect his wits for the next 
essay. 

" I been in ze ambulance/' he continued mildly, 
*' and you have known me, for a long time — a long 
time ; and you knows who I am in my own pays, is 
it not ? Some here do say zat I am not a count" 

" No. no V cried the doctor, nudging the dominie 
next him, " not that exactly — only no ac — count." 

'* Monsieur le docteur," was the Pole's dignified 
rejoinder, turning to the gentleman addressed," Je 
ne comprends pas votre badinage. You know. Mon- 
sieur Prettyman, zat I am an honest man at least ; 
you know what is my charact^re, and zat I will not 
deceive. Ze von chose zat I wish is zis : zat when you 
marry me, you will marry me in zis jolie chambre 
wiz all my friends — mes cher amies here — to be 

present at ze " 

16 



122 PAKIS SKETCHES. 

" Ha-ha, lii-ha ! Hold me, Kent, oh, I say, oh !" 
roared Frank, falling back into Kent's arms in a 
paroxysm of laughter. 

" Diamini /" muttered the Italian between his 
teeth, his face aglow with passion. 

The Pole contemplated the young man for a minute 
with something akin to pity in his look, then went on 
as sedately as before. 

" You need no laugh, messieurs, it is a serious 
matere. To marry in zis chambre — zat is not the 
only difficulte — zere is anothere j I do not know 
zat the demoiselle — la reine de mon coeur — does 
retaliate my affectione, mais I will see." 

Another outburst from irrepressible Frank, another 
glance of pity and patience from the speaker, who 
turning finally to the chair where Cantatrice sat, 
spread out his hands in a most humble and beseech- 
ing fashion, and asked softly : 

" Mademoiselle, will you marry me ?" 

For the last two or three minutes Cantatrice had 
been bending low over her cup of cofi'ee, so that it 
was impossible to detect the expression of her face ; 
but now she rose from her chair, her cheeks all 
aflame, a dangerous flash in her eyes, and looking 
more bewitching than she had ever done before. 



A DAY IN CAMP. 123 

Snatcliing up her coffee-cup she cast its contents 
right into the face of her admirer, and screaming 
with laughter, rushed out of the room, sending forth 
peal after peal of merriment — until she reached and 
locked herself in the sitting-room. Drenched with 
the murky potion, and in his amazement standing 
irresolute, the Pole was a most pitiful and ludicrous 
picture ; at length, however, he hastened, dismayed, 
from the apartment, and following Mademoiselle, 
threw himself against the sitting-room door, but all 
in vain. It was barred fast. On the advice of Frank, 
he retired 'to make a change of costume. All the 
rest of the afternoon a tall form was seen stalking up 
and down, near the sitting-rooija, twirling his mous- 
taches and looking terribly fierce and hostile. It 
was Rienzi, the Italian. 



124 PARIS SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE YOUJSTG AMERICAN. 

JL HE dreary light of a December afternoon was 
pouring into our apartments at the chevalier's maison, 
and mingling with the ruddy glare of the hearth-j&re, 
before which Frank and Kent were stretched out, 
panting and exhausted from their recent exercise. 
For they had been engaged in a close bout with the 
foils, and masks, gloves, upturned chairs, and pieces 
of music now lay strewn about in confusion. Both 
good swordsmen, the untiring patience and wary 
watchfulness of Kent, which went a good ways to 
answer for longer training, had at last worn out the 
impulse and baffled the skill of the other, who laugh- 
ingly owned to a fair defeat. 

" Ah well," he said, still breathing hard, and 
looking musingly at the scintillating sparks as they 
flew upward, " the race is not always to the swift 
nor the battle to the strong — eh Kent ? " — 

"You're a fine swordsman, Frank — brilliant is 
the word," was the reply. 

'* So is that fragment of pine in the grate — see 



THE YOUNa AMERICAN. 125 

how it flares up and shoots off those fine particles of 
fire ! — a brilliant burner, but it don't burn as long 
and well as the faggot of oak yonder. 

" Humph!'' 

" Energy is the one thing needful, mon brave ; 
isn't it Goethe that exalts energy above all the other 
virtues, and, declares it will accomplish anything. 
George ! I've had twice your experience with the 
foil, and yet you contrive to beat me everytime. En- 
ergy is a grand thing ; how high above the homme 
d'esprit — there isn't any English term will fit that — 
towers the man of energy." 

Kent leaned over, took Frank's face between his 
hands, and peered down into the clear, honest gray 
eyes, with a comical expression in his own, then 
raised his hands deprecatingly, and exclaimed simply. 

"Ciel!" 

Frank laughed, and getting up, gave the bell-rope 
a violent jerk. 

" Henri," he said to the colored boy, as he thrust 
his head in at the doorway, " bring us some more 
wood — some of those oak sticks — ha-ha ! ' 

The darkey disappeared, returned almost directly 
with the wood, deposited it at the fireplace, and was 
turning to withdraw, when 



126 PARIS SKETCHES. 

" Arretez, Henri/' said Kent, " haven't I seen you 
before in Regnault's studio ?" 

" Oui, monsieur," was tlie respectful reply. 

"Model, eh?" 

" Monsieur has guessed right." 

." What do you pose for ? " asked his interlocutor. 

" The arm, monsieur," and rolling up his sleeves, 
he displayed with all the pride of an athlete, an arm 
of almost perfect mould. It was not the size of the 
biceps — they only measured something over four- 
teen inches — that made the arm remarkable; it was 
the full development and .exquisite proportion of all 
the parts. Every sinew stood out like a whip-cord, 
and seemed to be more distinct than on a white 
man's arm. The slightest motion of the member 
set every muscle in visible play ; it was a real plea- 
sure to grasp the rounded fulness of the upper arm, 
and feel the muscles rise and fall. His wrist was 
large and strong, and yet not out of proportion with 
the forearm, the downward curve being full of grace. 
The elbow was not too fleshy, as it often is in a woman 
who has a beautiful arm, but round and full enough 
to the eye. 

" How long do you have to pose, Henri?" Kent 
asked. 



THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 127 

" Sometimes only one hour, and sometimes, two, 
three, and four hours, monsieur/' 

" Do yon ever get tired ?" 

" Yes, monsieur, but I forget it all when I'm paid 
off." 

" And how much do you get usually ?" 

" That depends, monsieur. For two hours, I may 
get ten francs, and then again I may not. But I 
never got more than twenty or twenty-five francs for 
one pose." 

" That seems like a good deal to make in so short 
a time." 

" It is not much, monsieur, because the artist may 
not want us again for several days, and meanwhile, 
what shall we do ?" 

" Why, do you make it a business ?" 

" Some do, monsieur, but I have to work also, and 
sometimes even Chabriet has to work ; Chabriet 
poses for the face, and so he gets more." 

" Ah, that's the way you're paid then ?!' 

" Yes, monsieur, and the neck and bust bring more 
than the face, you see ; and some earn plenty of money. 
There's Mile Ferrand — she stands for the whole 
figure — she makes forty and fifty — yes, and some- 
times a hundred francs — and over that too." 



128 PARIS SKETCHES. 

" Aren^t you sometimes afraid of getting sick and 
thin, and so losing the beauty of your arm V^ 

" No, monsieur, because I take regular exercises 
on the bar, and use the dumb-bells/' 

" See here, Henri," said Frank, " do you know 
how to fence ? " 

" A little, monsieur/' was the modest rejoinder. 

*' Gaudeamus igitur," he shouted, "aha, Master 
Kent, I've found your match at last. With such an 
eye, and such an arm — ye gods, what an arm ! — 
Here," he cried, thrusting foil and gloves on the be- 
wildered negro, " stand up now; ready ? — garde! — 
feinte de droite ! — de degage ! — de liement ! — hon— 
ton ! you have the trick of the wrist, I see. Now 
Kent, make ready." 

Nothing loth, Kent donned gloves and mask, and 
snatching up his foil, took his position, with many a 
cautious glance at the length of his opponent's arm. 
It seemed at the first glance that the two were not 
equally matched ; the tall, slender form of the student 
was physically inferior to the stout, broad, muscular 
frame of the darkey; but on the other hand Kent's 
thrusts and returns were quick as lightning, and the 
movements of his body so wonderfully rapid that the 
other was twice, or thrice a trifle confused. Henri's 



THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 129 

power lay principally in the strength and suppleness 
of his wrist, and sometimes it seemed as if he would 
twist his opponent's foil out of his hand by sheer force 
of muscular energy. It was an exciting contest; the 
flash and whir of the foils, the feints, the fancy hits, 
the advances and the retreats, the lithe bending and 
swift glancing of the figures, and the steady eyeing 
of the two, made one look on with flushed cheeks 
and bated breath. Frank was infinitely delighted, 
hovering around the fencers as you see gamesters 
hovering around a pair of fighting bantams in some 
of Hogarth's cartoons. 

^^ Bon ! " he exclaimed, "a good thrust. Pfui, 
Henri, that was poor ; try again — now, feinte de 
liement — so, aha, master Kent — vite ! — recu- 
lez ! — las !" 

But the model was giving way. With all his robust- 
ness of form and strength of arm, the student had 
one incalculable advantage over him ; his power of 
entire concentration, acquired by long habits of 
patient study, and his tenacious energy of purpose, 
which made his eye glow like a live coal in the dark, 
were so great that irresistibly the darkey seemed to 
yield to their influence. One despairs of contending 
17 



130 PARIS SKETCHES. 

against sucli intense earnestness and indomitable 
tension of will. Morally he was conquered, but still 
lie fought on, falling back on a quality sometimes as 
efficacious as others higher in the scale — doggedness. 
But the loss of a button on his foil put a stop to the 
struggle, Kent protesting he had never stood up 
against so plucky an adversary, and the darkey de- 
claring that monsieur was a master of the foils. 

The twilight was softening around, when we gath- 
ered about the grate once more, and fell into a train 
of indolent musing. It was just the hour for silence 
and dreamy imaginings — what the French so music- 
ally call au crepuscule — and, perhaps influenced by 
the comfortable warmth of the fire and the loneliness 
of the hour, our thoughts seemed to go back by tacit 
prearrangement to the by-gone days beyond the sea. 
As sometimes happens, too, our reflections appeared 
to be led simultaneously through the same channel 
to the same end ; for presently Kent spoke out and 
said: 

" I wonder how the American is getting on." 

'' Just what I was thinking,'^ said Frank. 

" And ir 

" Suppose we go down and cheer him up a little," 
he suggested again. The proposition was received 



THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 131 

favorably, and we left tlie twiliglit and the dreaming, 
and descended to the patient's room. 

The American, as he was called, was a young man 
of good family from Kentucky, who had been brought 
to the ambulance suffering from a severe wound 
caused by the bursting of a shell in his lodgings in 
the Latin quarter. The injury proved to be so se- 
rious on examination that it was found necessary to 
amputate the leg. Immediately after the operation, 
he was removed to a separate room in the maison, 
which was arranged solely for his occupation and 
convenience : the best attendants were provided, 
and everything done to render him comfortable. It 
was something so wholly novel to have a fellow- 
countryman under care, that the greatest interest 
and solicitude were manifested in his welfare. A 
cry of suffering wrung from Eaglish-speaking lips 
was infinitely touching. At first his progress toward 
recovery was rapid and constant ; under the stimu- 
lating diet, carefully administered, he grew stronger 
and fleshier, and the light of health came into his 
eyes. But it was only for a while. Then one of 
those sudden relapses ensued which are so inexplica- 
ble in their beginnings and so fatal in their conse- 
quences ; the mysteries of the Bible are not more 



132 PARIS SKETCHES. 

unaccountable than the mysteries of some diseases 
and the student of medicine can no more discover 
the whys and the wherefores of certain material 
phenomena than the blindest disciple of faith the 
whys and wherefores of certain spiritual things. 
After this change, the patient sank lower and lower; 
he became pale, feverish, emaciated, and all hope of 
recovery died away in his heart. It was painful to 
witness the sluggish apathy in which he lay day 
after day. Occasionally hope would reanimate him, 
but the reaction of despair inevitably came again. 

When we entered his room, he was lying on the 
bed, with his poor, thin face turned toward the 
bright fire that crackled in the grate. His eyes — 
sunken in their sockets and inflamed with fever — 
looked wild and strange when he turned them on us, 
and tried to greet us with a smile. — Oh, the bitterness 
and hopelessness of that smile ! Human faces and 
human voices had become indescribably dear to him 
now that in his blindness he could find no other an- 
chor to which to cling, and even these were not long to 
be seen or heard. We seated ourselves near his 
bed, and got to talking on the topics of the day, 
doing what we could to enliven and amuse him. But 
it seemed as if he was not to be diverted from the 



THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 133 

one abiding idea. The fire burned down, and dusk 
waned and faded into evening, and still we kept on 
cheerily talking. Finally the subject of home was 
touched on, and instantly, like the tension of a harp- 
cord, that loosened makes discord with the other 
strings, but tightened emits according harmony, the 
man's nature responded to the sweet memories re- 
stored at the mere mention of the word ; and he broke 
out into an odd jumble of reminiscences, gradually, 
however, growing calmer and clearer in statement. 

He talked well; in fact he was a gentleman, and 
had the manners and language of a gentleman and 
scholar. He described to us his home in Kentucky, 
told us of his reckless youth, how he had come to 
Paris to read law, how he had misused his time and. 
opportunities, and how he had been inveigled into 
idle and dissolute habits. Throughout his story 
there ran the melancholy of a disappointed man and 
the sad impression of a misspent life. The wood on 
the hearth burned lower, and crumbling, sank with 
a groan, sending showers of cinders up the chimney, 
but he did not think of stopping, moving on from 
incident to incident until he came to the account of 
the reception of his injury in Paris. The dying em- 
bers were casting flickering shadows on the wall, 



134 PARIS SKETCHES. 

when lie gave tlie conclusion to his tale in nearly the 
following words : 

" Shut up in Paris by the siege and unable to send 
word to my family of my condition and place of resi- 
dence, the scanty funds in my possession soon 
dwindled away. I could not bring myself to accept 
the gratuitous provisions dealt out at the cantons. 
It may have been one of the mistaken notions of my 
southern breeding; but it was impossible for me to 
become a beggar or a public pensioner. My pride — 
as some would call it — militated against even the 
pangs of hunger and the sense of cold ; and pride, at the 
end of the hard struggle, conquered. Throughout 
that cold, dreary month of December, the pittance 
on which I subsisted barely sufficed to satisfy the 
cravings of appetite. I knew there was a hospital 
in the city established by my countrymen with doors 
open to all in sickness and misfortune like myself, 
and I also knew that to others in my situation the 
generous heart of Mr. Washburn had gone out in 
warm sympathy and active relief. But I did not 
attempt to seek him out, though I often thought of 
doing so ; why it is perhaps not necessary to say. It 
was another case of proud pauperism. 

" The bleak days of January came, and still there 



THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 135 

was no relief. My purse was almost drained; and 
witli food at the enormous prices whicli it then 
brought, what was I to do ? I remember paying 
sixty centimes for a poor little lark, but it had a keen 
relish in the midst of my staple meal of hominy and 
black bread. Fuel I could not in any way obtain. 
Morning after morning I lay abed to keep warm, and 
even while I lay, there would come that indescribable 
longing for something to check the waste and con- 
sumption which I was perfectly conscious was going 
on inside. Withal, the scream and crash of shells, 
as they fell in the vicinity, awakened another kind 
of fear, for my nerves were unstrung and my courage 
shaken. 

" But inactivity was intolerable, and I was generally 
driven to desert my bed, though it were to meet the 
horrors of another day. The future looked dark, as 
the present was dark, and the world seemed full of 
suffering, misery, and despair. I care not to reveal 
all the wild fancies, the horrible dreams, the fan- 
tastic images that chased one another across my poor 
brain in those hours. It is like a terrible nightmare 
now ; I can hardly convince myself that it was true. 
Night would come on apace, and still no succor. 
The same unutterable yearning — the same sense of 



136 PARIS SKETCHES. 

void, the same sharp pains — that was all. The 
shells would, indeed, seem to fall nearer, and some- 
times my head would be heated and aching and my 
lips parched and dry. There was no help but in 
sleep — and sleep would not come. 

" But there was not long to wait. One cold night 
in the early part of January — how well I recall it 
now ! — I was preparing to retire as usual. All day 
long the booming of artillery had resounded over the 
city, and in the quarter where I lived the shells had 
fallen more thickly and rapidly than I ever remem- 
bered them to have fallen before. I was but a 
shadowy simulacrum of myself and in a fearfully 
nervous state — starting and trembling at every near 
explosion of a shell. My friend who occupied the 
adjoining room had gone to bed. 

" I sat up late into the night, dreaming of the past 
and the old house on the banks of the Ohio. One 
by one the scenes became distinct, and I could fancy, 
as I can now, that we were all gathered round the 
lamp in the pleasant sitting room. Mother was there 
sewing, her eyes full of tenderness and her voice a 
little tremulous with age, and sister, too, reclining at 
her feet, and another whom I thought in time to wed. 
Somehow, it does me good to tell this now. I re- 



THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 137 

member — oh, so distinctly! — the night before 
leaving home I found her on the sofa in the old par- 
lor, her large eyes suffused with tears and her dark 
hair falling all disheveled about her face, and tried 
to console and cheer her. Oh, if I had only staid, 
what peace and content and sweet communion had 
been mine ! 

" Crash ! I started up in my bed and gazed round : 
here were nothing but bare walls and misery and 
squalidness. That shell must have struck nearer 
than usual, I thought, and pressed my hand on my 
throbbing heart; all was darkness; it might have 
been a dream. I was conscious that my mind was 
wandering, and determined to try and get a little rest 
before dawn. I sat down on the side of my bed to 
take off my shoes and stockings in preparation for 
retiring. But even while I was untying my shoe- 
laces, there came on a sudden a great rushing noise — 
a dull report — a blinding flash — and I knew no 
more." 

He ceased, and lay back among the pillows ex- 
hausted by his unwonted efforts. The fire in the 
grate had burned out, the shadows on the wall de- 
parted, and the gloom of night gathered round. But 
18 



138 PARIS SKETCHES. 

it was not long so. The moon rose slowly above tlie 
drifting clouds, and poured her pale, cold light down 
into the sufferer's room, and then athwart his bed. 
For a minute his face, pinched and ghastly, lay in a 
bar of silvery light. It was like a solemn premoni- 
tion ; for not many nights afterwards the angel of 
death came to him, and the weary heart of the Ame- 
rican beat no more. 



THE NEW YEAR. 139 



CHAPTER X. 

THE NEW TEAR. 

OHRISTMAS passed drearily away. There was 
no hanging up of stockings at the hearth the night 
before ; there were no gleeful spirits and bright eyes 
in the early morning, no merry party, no Christmas 
dinner, no joyous sleigh-ride on the river and dancing 
till morning ; no, except in the sacredness of memory, 
all those home scenes of bygone times were no more for 
us. The day rose and set in gloom, and we went about 
in a melancholy, absent way, hardly doing honor to poor 
Noel, Santa Claus's French cousin. There was an in- 
terchange of books, I remember, and Frank, after 
rummaging all Galignani's, of all books in the world 
to send an Episcopal clergyman, sent the dominie Dar- 
win's Origin of Species. Even that drew forth but a 
sickly smile when we heard it ; and as for Achates — 
alas ! his wits were over the channel, and he didn't 
notice us at all. But the day passed at last, and the 
new year came on apace. The days were sharp and 
clear, and the nights bitter cold. But we had resolved 
on a different policy, and there was to be a merry 
party to see the old year out and the new year in. 



140 PARIS SKETCHES. 

It was in the gray twilight of that cold last night 
of the year that we assembled in the comfortable 
dining room at the chevalier's maison. A bright 
wood fire was burning in the grate, casting a red 
glow through the room and diffusing a genial warmth. 
Kent was there, and Frank, the doctor and the 
dominie, and several others. Madame Bernois was 
in her glory; the arrangements for the dinner had 
been placed entirely in her hands, and she promised 
us a princely entertainment. She summoned us to 
the table at an early hour. We drew up our chairs, 
nothing loth, and lo ! were no sooner set than pre- 
sented with the following menue : — 

Ambulance Americaine 

Avenue Ulrich 36 
Directrice Mme. Bernois. 



Potage au chien 

Patet de chat 

Bat saute au champignon 

Gigot de chien 

Ognon a la sauce blanche 

Pomme de terre naturel 

Salade lettuce 

Tarte du Carin 

Gelet au cerise 

Cafe. 



THE NEW YEAR. 141 

Frank roared, the doctor pronounced it excellent, 
and the dominie looked horrified. 

" But the rat — the rat !" said his reverence with 
a look of perplexity and dismay, " really now I can- 
not go that ; cat and dog are bad enough, but the 
rat — oh!" — 

" St. Peter," — began Kent — 

" Listen, reverend seniors," interrupted Frank 
with mock gravity, " here is some mistake. As- 
sembled in solemn conclave in this most renowned 
city of the world, the Savans of the Academy of 
Sciences, after having tasted and tested the meats 
of sundry hitherto so-called noxious animals, served 
under strong spices appointed therefor, have recorded 
as the result of their grave and erudite deliberations 
that the rat, as a staple element of alimentation, is 
infinitely superior to the cat or dog." 

"Bold pioneers in the paths of prejudice!" re- 
marked the doctor. 

" And furthermore," continued the orator with a 
commanding wave of his hand, " it is stated by this 
august and learned body that no fears need be en- 
tertained on the subject of provisions, for there are 
yet some 25,000,000 of these said precious animals 
in the city." 



142 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

" Knowledge profound and minute !" commented 
the doctor. 

" And consoling," added tlie dominie, resignedly. 

The potage was very good, but decidedly unfla- 
vored by any thing akin to . dog-meat, for we all 
agreed it was not much inferior to the bouillon we 
were wont to get at Duval's. 

" And now," said the dominie, wiping his fingers 
daintily, " I'm prepared for your pates, Madame, 
which by a similar course of reasoning I infer to be 
pates de lapin, is it not so V 

" Non," exclaimed her ladyship indignantly, 
" Frangois, servez lech at, si vous plait. Vite ! " 

"I don't believe, — I can't believe it," groaned 
the dominie, with a look of despair. " Doctor, I call 
you to witness" — 

" By George ! — its jolly." Frank was surveying 
a half-eaten morsel poised on his fork. '' Why, 
hang it ! its a rabbit, Kent, true as I'm alive. I say, 
Madame Bernois, where did you get this rabbit this 
time of year ?" 

The dominie was relieved. Fearfully, and with 
great reluctance he tasted a bit, and behold ! his face 
brightened at once ; he followed it by another and 
another. 



THE NEW YEAR. 143 

"Good — quite tender for a starved rabbit," lie 
said, plying his fork contentedly. 

" Dat's no lapin, Monsieur le Cure. Tink dis cbile 
tell lie for nuthin ?'' broke in Madame, waxing: 
more indignant. 

The dominie dropped his fork and looked up in 
blank alarm. 

" Doctor, I appeal to you, now." — 

" It's not a rabbit, " answered that gentleman wag- 
gishly. " Look here !" and he held up a thigh bone, 
" did you ever see a bone in a rabbit's leg as large as 
that, sir V 

The proof was positive, and the clerical gentleman 
looked blank. " The Lord help me in such a strait ; 
it's startling to reflect on — cat-flesh in the stomach 
of the Rev. Cranmer Prettyman. Think of it ! — 
But no ! I don't believe it — I do not, sir, indeed — 
no, no !" 

" You not believe him, eh !" shrieked Madame ; 
" bien, attendez — attendez un instant, monsieur," 
and she ran out of the room, and we heard her scream- 
ing down the long stairs, '' Eugenie ! — Eugenie !" 

"What's up?" asked Frank, looking round. But 
nobody knew ; and pretty soon a pair of heavy sabots 
came clogging up stairs, and then Madame Bernois 



144 PARIS SKETCHES. 

entered, and walked up to the table, followed by a 
little, bent, wrinkled, cunning-faced old bag — Eu- 
genie, sliding along in ber wooden sboes. 

" Yoila !" exclaimed Madame pointing to ber maid 
of all work, wbo stood holding up by the nap of the 
neck the skin of a large sized cat, " las ! do you be- 
lieve him now, eb ? " — 

The poor gentleman rose from bis cbair and walked 
up and down tbe room, too disturbed for utterance. 

" Go," be said at last to tbe bag, wbo withdrew, 
leering over her triumph, " go, I am satisfied. Ah, 
well — it's done, and cannot be undone." 

" What — tbe cat ?" asked the doctor innocently. 

" Glentlemen, I beg of you, some mercy, if you 
please, some — 

" Rabbit, sir ? " said Frank. 

The third course actually turned out to be rabbit, 
and the fourth a gigot de poulie. 

" Dar," said madame, her eyes glowing with pride 
and satisfaction as she perceived the relish with 
which the last dishes were partaken of, '' de fust cost 
you forty francs at tbe restaurant — how many dollars 
am dat? — and de poulie, well, it cost you twenty- 
five francs if you get him at all." 

" This seems like cheating the wounded," said 
Kent. 



THE NEW YEAR. 145 

" Non, non ! you pay for it yourself — out of your 
own pocket, iMassa Kent ; oh yes, I'll make you pay 
for him — ha, ha ! " 

'*It's curious," Kent continues, with a glance at 
the dominie, " how people's prejudices stand in the 
way in the matter of food. Now I hold horse-steak, 
properly sauced and garnished, to be as good as the 
sirloin of a cow. The grain may be a little coarser, 
the color a tinge darker, the odor a trifle stronger, 
but that matters little after all. Do you remember 
the test we applied once, Frank ? " — 

" S'George," exclaimed Frank, pouring oil on his 
salad with epicurean exactness of measurement, •' but 
I do We tried a horse and a cow steak together, 
sir — how funny that sounds, eh ! — 'twas in October, 
when the rationing had just begun. 'Pon my soul, 
there wasn't much difference twixt the two ; liked 
one as well as the other." 

"It is certainly a remarkable fact," began the do- 
minie, clearing his throat for a discourse, " now in 
China and Japan " — 

" Your glass is empty; let me help you," inter- 
rupted the doctor, with the gravest and most tender 
solicitude for the reverend gentleman's needs. 
19 



146 PARIS SKETCHES. 

" C'est comme il faut," chimed in Frank again, — 

" ' Qui vins ne boit apres salade, 
Est en danger d'etre malade' : 

who said that, mes chers ?" 

"That," — the dominie pronounced itwith the dog- 
matic authority of a man who is aiming for a bishop- 
ric, "is a proverb, probably of French origin, 
which " — 

" A little of the sauterne, sir ? yes ? — there — 
it's quite good, isn't it ? By the way, have you ever 
eaten any elephant, sir ? " — 

" No ; I hope not " faltered the persecuted gen- 
tleman. 

" It's not bad, I assure you," continued the doctor, 
" but I understand the trunk is the tenderest portion 
and the best eating." 

" It ought to be," remarked Kent; " they charge 
forty francs per pound for the meat of the proboscis, 
and only fifteen francs for a pound of ordinary. 
Most all the animals of the Jardins des PI antes have 
been put in requisition, now, so that you can have 
bear, camel, yak, seal, antelope, or hippopotamus." 

" The Lord help us !" exclaimed the dominie 
piously, sipping his wine. 



THE NEW YEAR. 147 

" With all these provisions," remarked one of the 
guests, " it doesn't seem as if there could be so very 
much suffering from want of food," 

" It isn't that," replied the doctor, getting serious 
now that the dominie was quenched, " people suffer 
not so much from sheer want of food — there is really 
little of that kind of deprivation — as from a want 
0^ proper food. Bread compounded of peas, oat-meal, 
and straw, the dry flesh of starved horses, and sour> 
wines, is not the sort of aliment to strengthen and 
sustain." 

" Besides," added Kent, " you will remember that 
we don't see the suffering, if there is any. It's not 
the rich nor the very poor that find difficulty in ob- 
taining food ] it's the middle class — the bourgeoisie — 
who are too poor to pay — or at least, on account of 
the condition of rents, unable to pay, the prices 
asked, and too proud to beg at the cantons. Look 
at the queues at the butcher-shops of Gros-Caillou. 
The American was an example of what I mean." 

" How do you account for the death of the poor 
peasants who were found in the Rue Denoyez ? " 
asked Frank. 

" They died of cold, I think, and not of starvation, 
as was alleged." 



148 PARIS SKETCHES. 

" Shouldn't wonder," Frank replied ; *' wood is 
scarcer than bread, I can tell you : Auguste couldn't 
get a stick the other day." 

" There rich and poor suffer alike," continued 
Kent, who was talking more than usual this evening, 
but so modestly and intelligently that it was pleasant 
to hear him. " I went with the doctor the other day 
to see Madame Cuillard" — 

" What ! the Cuillard related to the House of Italy 
who lives upon the avenue just above here in that 
quaint-looking chateau?" asked the dominie, reviv- 
ing somewhat, and the next minute half startled at 
his own temerity. 

" The same ; she is wealthy, you know, as well as 
noble born, and has surrounded herself with the 
choicest things of art and luxury. Well, we were 
conducted to her boudoir, where she lay reclining on 
a low sofa warmly covered, and her miid by her side 
sewing. There was no fire in the grate, and the air 
of the room was chill and uncomfortable. She had 
sent her last few sticks of wood, procured with great 
difficulty, to a needlewoman of hers, ill and confined 
to bed at the lodge. She did not tell us that ; we 
learned it from the sick woman herself. When 
strangers talk of the lightness and '•fickleness of 



THE NEW TEAR. 149 

Frencliwomen, tell them tliat ' little unremembered 
act of kindness' of Madame Cuillard. It is not an 
exception to a comprehensive rule, I do assure you/' 

" The Marquise de Girard is in the same boat," 
said Frank, warming with his friend's enthusiasm. 
" There's another of your frivolous, unfeeling women 
of fashion ! She marshals her waiting-women every 
day in a cold, cheerless room — no, even she can't get 
fuel — and there she sits among them, chatting and 
making lint, and doing up confitures, for the diflferent 
hospitals. What a despicable thing ! Of course French 
women are only fit for riding, dressing, loving, and 
beino; made love to ! — bah !" 

The cloth being now removed, we drank a final 
toast to the " Absent ones," amid a thoughtful si- 
lence of several minutes, and then drew up our chairs 
round the hearth, where a glorious fire was blazing, 
and settled down cozily for a comfortable evening. 
From the depths of a dark closet the dominie pro- 
duced a suspicious looking tin-can, whose bottom and 
sides were black from repeated scorchings, and filling 
it with water, placed it dexterously between a couple 
of logs in the grate, where soon it was boiling and 
bubbling and sputtering in the pleasantest wise im- 
aginable. That good-hearted, Christian gentleman 



150 PARIS SKETCHES. 

the Vicar of Wakefield, had a weakness, it will be 
remembered, for his bottle of gooseberry wine, and 
so a fondness for a social glass of toddy was one of 
the major failings of our friend, the dominie. Toddy, 
too, is commonly concomitant with discussion, if we 
may trust the good stories that are sometimes told 
of the old-fashioned Scottish divines, and it is there- 
fore not surprising that the company was before long 
launched into the labyrinths of metaphysics. The 
reverend gentleman led the way, Kent following 
closely, and occasionally bringing him back to the 
main path ; Frank pufi"ed away at his cigarette in a 
way that showed his total indiflPerence to the subject, 
and the doctor now and then edged in a facetious 
remark that entirely upset the gravity necessary to 
philosophic dissertations of this kind. 

All things sublunar have an end, and it is true 
even of disputes that reach beyond the moon and 
above it. The discussion came to a close, and, on 
the principle of unbending the bow after prolonged 
tension, the dominie was called upon for a song. 
In response he rendered the funeral-like dirge of the 
Old Sexton, rolling it off in his deep base with fine 
effect. In resuming his seat, he plucked up spirit 
to request the doctor to dance a jig for the edifica- 



THE NEW YEAR. 151 

tion of the company, whicli he declared, would give 
additional variety to the pastimes of the evening. 
The doctor replied with equal gravity that as it had 
always been his province to make other people dance, 
he had never taken the trouble to learn the steps 
himself, and sat down amid cries of " hear " — 
" hear ! " 

Then we had an oddly-told story from Frank, after 
which a song by Kent, and finally a recitation from 
Tennyson's In Memoriam. But it was getting late, 
and we grew less inclined to talk as the hour of mid- 
night drew nearer. The great logs in the grate no 
longer blazed and burned, but lay smouldering to- 
gether, and emitting lazy circles of smoke and cin- 
ders. 

Half past eleven struck, and henceforward there 
was an almost unbroken silence. A shade of sadness 
crept over our spirits -, the old year was near its 
close — the joys and sorrows, the struggles and fail- 
ures, the promises and hopes, of a whole year almost 
over with. 

" The shadows flicker to and fro ; 
The cricket chirps ; the light burns low, 
'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.^' 



152 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

Old memories came floating m from the past, filling 
the heart too full for utterance. Why mention them ? 
They^re not all blythe and happy memories, even 
for the youngest of us ; for shadows fall in the sun- 
light sometimes as well as in the vale. The minutes 
lengthen out, beat by beat ; the stillness grows op- 
pressive. The dominie holds his watch in his 
hand, and we see the slow-revolving hands. Click- 
click-click, and at last it is twelve o'clock. 

" There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, 
And a new face at the door, my friend, 
A new face at the door." 



BUZENVAL. 153 



CHAPTER XI. 

BUZENVAL. 

v/N the niglit of the eighteenth of January all the 
aids had been busy until a late hour. Mr. Kent, 
Frank and I had been engaged in the chevalier's 
house, and it being already so far into the night, we 
agreed to remain there till morning. It must have 
been in the gray dawn that Madame Bernois awaked 
us ; at any rate we were fearfully sleepy, and tired, 
and aching in back and limb. But we got up, dressed 
ourselves, washed down a scanty breakfast with a 
bowl of coffee, and hurried over to the ambulance. 

We were just in time, for the carriages were on 
the point of starting, and delay would have been 
failure. The same preparations had been made as 
in the affair of Malmaison. On this occasion, there 
was an addition to the train in the shape of a port- 
able cooking-stove. This singular looking machine, 
which had been one of the indispensable attachments 
of a flying ambulance in our civil war, and the utility 
of which Dr. Evans was anxious to demonstrate to 
20 



154 PARIS SKETCHES. 

the Frencli, was set upon a light four-wheeled car- 
riage-box — the food, fuel, and cooking utensils 
being in the fore part, and the coffee, wine, and 
water in three boilers in the rear, from which arose 
three slim pipes. Viewed from a distance, it looked 
like some mysterious engine of war. The camp was 
all alive, and when Mr. Bov/les,the captain of one of 
the volunteer staffs, rode into the grounds, he was 
greeted with a rousing cheer. The boys were in 
good spirits, and every thing was an event. It really 
seemed as if we were going on a jolly jaunt to Saint 
Cloud. 

When we entered the avenue de la Grande Armee, 
it might have been six o'clock. The morning was 
cold, cloudy, and dull with indications of rain ; the 
broad highway was deserted, and there were no other 
sounds save the rumble of our wheels and the distant 
booming of cannon. Rattling past the big barricade, 
we saw a number of brown-bloused men and boys, 
with guns on their shoulders and talking excitedly, 
hastening in the same direction. At the Porte 
Maillot we were ordered to halt and report, and after 
much unnecessary delay and parley, at length suc- 
ceeding in obtaining permission to go on. At the 
Pont du Neuilly we were again stopped — wedged 



BUZENVAL. 155 

in among the liospital trains of our division tliat 
blocked up the road as far as one could see in front. 
Looking forward one saw only a long, broken, irreg- 
ular line. Bayonets, barrels, and trappings shone 
in the morning air, amid a confused mass of blue 
coats, gray blankets, cow-hide knapsacks, and red 
trousers. It had rained quite recently, and the 
roads were wet and muddy -, but the troops began to 
move on more rapidly, and we found opportunity to 
scan them more closely. They were mostly young 
men, for the veterans were away in Germany. All 
were to all appearance scantily clad ; and some had 
wrapped their blankets in toga-like folds about their 
shoulders and thrust their hands in to keep them 
warm. They had marched for two days, with but 
little rest, with no sleep, and without anything to eat 
except straw bread and oat-meal, washed down with 
a pint or two of sour wine. Quite a number looked 
pale, worn, and feverish ; some limped, coughed, and 
groaned with pain; a few had no stockings, and their 
bare legs and ankles were exposed to the rain and 
cold ; others had holes in their shoes so large that 
the frozen toes thrust themselves out. These were 
mostly of the Mobiles and troops of the line. The 
National Guard, this time incorporated in the brigade, 



156 PARIS SKETCHES. 

were nearly as bad and wretched looking. Tlieir 
neatness and spruceness were gone. Nearly all shop- 
keepers, meclianics, artisans, they had been entirely 
" done up " by the hard marching and exposure of 
the last two or three days. It was a pitiful sight to 
see them dragging on their wearied limbs, so fagged 
and dejected ; certainly they did not seem fit for ac- 
tion of any kind. 

Meanwhile, by slow advances, we had reached the 
Plage du Statue de Napoleon, and there halted again. 
The cofi'ee machine became the " cynosure of neigh- 
boring eyes," and a wondering group was always 
standing about it. The good humored chef, ladle 
in hand, was distributing cups of hot coffee and 
morsels of straw-ribbed bread among the corps, and 
to all the hungry foot- soldiers he could conveniently 
reach. The genial influence of the collation was 
warming our hearts and cheering our spirits, and 
everybody was fast becoming jocular, when lo ! what 
should we see coming slowly down the avenue but 
all the heavy ambulance trains, which had by some 
means, fair or foul, preceded us in the division. 

" Great Caesar ! what have we here ? Whose work 
is this ? Ho, ho ! " laughed Frank, who stood beside 



BUZENVAL. 157 

me looking at tlie scene, with infinite amusement in 
his face. 

On they came — great lumbering omnibuses, quaint 
looking asylum and hospital vehicles, grocery wagons, 
old ambulance voitu7'es, coupes^ dog carts, and all 
kinds of two or four-wheeled conveyances under the 
sun. They presented a very droll spectacle, moving 
slowly along among the crowds of tired soldiers, the 
top of the omnibuses overloaded with messieurs from 
Paris, huddled together to get shelter from the rain. 
As the head of the strange caravan approached us, 
the cooking-stove was roaring a merry tune ; and 
the hot coffee hissing and bubbling in the boilers 
sent forth its pleasant odors, which curling round 
and round the slender pipes, were wafted directly 
under the nostrils of our fratres vidnerati. How 
tantalizing must have been the fragrance ! How ma- 
liciously the chef threw out his corpulent body and 
grinned ! How innocent and surprised we looked, 
with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a bit 
of bread in the other ! 

When the last of the long line had passed, there 
were divers winks, and nods, and significant smiles. 
I know it was uncharitable, I know it was unchristian- 
like, but what will you ! There is many a Sganarelle has 



158 PARIS SKETCHES. 

to be " a medecin malgre \m." These gentilhommes 
had caught the disease of ambition to excel by fair 
means or foul, and much against our will, and not 
by our seeking, we were forced to administer a pill. 

While we were still lingering over our meal, the 
medical staff of the French army drove up, and we 
had the honor of sharing sandwiches and coffee with 
some of its most distinguished members. Baron 
Larre leaned from his saddle, and tipped the con- 
tents of the tin cup with as much grace and sang 
froid as though he were sipping choice wine from 
crystal-cut glass in some salon. 

" How many men do you suppose we can see from 
here, sir ? " I asked of a gentleman. 

" About fifteen thousand.^' 

" And where is the attack to be made first; do you 
know?" 

"Attack I" he said laughing, "why it's only a 
sham — a mock battle ; I have it from good authority 
that the whole affair is a mere demonstration gotten up 
to satisfy the honor of the National Gruard, who have 
done nothing hitherto and refuse to give up without 
some show of fight at least. See ! they've placed 
them in the center of the division." 

It made one sick at heart after that, to look at these 



BUZENVAL. 159 

poor wretclies led away to slaughter, for no doubt 
there would be fighting, and hard fighting, and many 
killed; and all this for honor. Truly, all men do 
not reason like Jack Falstaff on this subject. But 
by this time, a passage had been cleared in the road, 
and we were summoned to our posts, and whipping 
up, drove on to Rueil. On entering the village our 
carriage was stopped by some infirmiers of another 
ambulance, who wanted to transfer their wounded 
from the rude box wagon in which they were to our 
pendant couches. While this change was being 
efi"ected, a crowd of habitans collected round the 
wagon, and insisted on my following them some 
distance across the way ; which I did with the best 
grace possible, my gray domino trailing behind and 
my cowl thrown back from the head. At the door-sill 
of a wretched hovel lay a soldier of the National 
Guard. He was pale, ill looking, with matted hair, 
unkempt beard, and covered with dust and filth. 
There was a group of boys and women around him, 
whether railing at him or pitying his condition, I 
couldn't very well discover. Supposing the man 
was wounded, and somewhat indignant that no one 
bestirred himself to help him, I strode authoritatively 



160 PARIS SKETCHES. 

up to his side, and bending over him, asked in my 
kindest and gentlest tones : . 

" Ah, mon ami, qu'est ce que vous faites ? Avez- 
vous du mal ?'' 

A grunt was my answer. 

" Etes-vous blesse V 1 exclaimed in alarm, startled 
by his manner. 

" Non, M'sieur," said a peasant, stepping forward 
and touching me on the shoulder, — " II n'est pas 
blesse ; mais seulement" — and here he smiled for an 
instant, and the crowd — confound them ! — couldn't 
restrain a broad grin " seulement, vous savez, il est 
enivre." 

I found my way back to the waggon in safety, I 
believe. I do not remember, however, ever having 
said anything of this my first experience as an " aide 
chirurgien/' 

Our carriage was filled with wounded before we 
reached the Mairie, whither we had been directed 
to go, and accordingly we turned about and drove 
home to the ambulance as quickly as consistent with 
our load. Eeturning we found all the ambulance 
trains drawn up on the outskirts of the village, their 
drivers, aids, and hangers-on standing round on foot ; 
and we were driving on without stopping to inquire 



BUZENVAL. 161 

the cause, wlien one of our own wagons came up 
on its trip to the city. 

" You'd better not go on," halloed one of the 
gentlemen as we passed, " the shells are falling like 
hail/' 

" Pshaw ! " we replied, " all nonsense" ; and we 
went on. 

It seems that the Prussian batteries had opened 
fire to dislodge some troops in the vicinity of the 
village ; and every now and then a shell fell short of 
its mark and exploded in the street. In the narrow, 
dismal streets, there was no sign of life ', even the 
closed houses seemed to be unoccupied. The shells 
rushed screaming over our heads, and just as we 
reached the church — the church where Josephine 
and Hortense lie, one struck the tower, and sent the 
pieces flying across the street. At the Mairie was a 
strange scene. 

The front court was thronged. Round the steps 
and entrance of the building lay wounded soldiers, 
awaiting their turn to be attended to — bleeding and 
suffering, their wounds rudely staunched or bound 
with rent pieces of cloth, and their equipments and 
trappings strewn about in utter confusion. Straw and 
21 



162 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

dirt covered ttie pavement that was wont to be so 
clean and bright. Litter-bearers were passing in and 
out the doors ; ambulance attaches and infirmiers were 
rushing aimlessly about among the wagons and talk- 
ing in high keys ; near the open gates soldiers and 
gamins and villagers were gathered, waiting to hear 
news of the battle from the mounted aids arriving 
every moment from the field. All was hurry and 
excitement. Men ran hither and thither, confusing 
the drivers, quarreling for the best places, jostling the 
wounded, and shouting for quiet, but never quiet 
themselves. At times the roar of artillery rose above 
this tumult, and the crash of a shell near by warned 
one of the nearness of the danger. 

The interior of the Mairie presented a still stranger 
spectacle. The handsome, spacious apartments were 
at this moment nothing more than hospital wards. 
The beds, mattresses and brancards were so jumbled 
together that there was hardly room to pass between 
them. As you glanced over the rooms, linen, blankets, 
baskets, bandages, uniforms, side-arms, muskets, gar- 
ments stained with blood, pale, wan faces, closely 
packed, met the eye in every direction ; confusion, 
disorder, haste, and suffering all mingled. Sisters of 
mercy moved gently and swiftly in and out among the 



BUZENVAL. 163 

rows of wounded, and in the general disturbance, pre- 
served the same quiet mien and peaceful calm. 

Frank and I were bandaging the shattered leg of 
a mobile, who was bearing the operation manfully, 
but with agony hardly repressed, when Baron Larr^, 
as he paced restlessly up and down the apartment, 
caught sight of Frank in the act of putting on the 
bandage rather hurriedly and without the regular 
professional plait or turn, which indeed seemed to 
us scarcely necessary under the circumstances. The 
Baron stopped in his walk, strode up to the bedside : 

" Monsieur ! " he said, and pointed to the ban- 
daged member. There was a stern reproof in his 
voice and gesture impossible not to heed. The leg 
was dressed at length and with care, but the silent 
old man marched away shaking his hoary head and 
frowning. 

During the day, our wagons made three succes- 
sive journeys to Rueil and back, each one having 
thus traversed a distance of over sixty miles. "With 
the exception of the scanty meal of coffee and bread 
in the morning we had nothing to eat until nightfall. 
We lived on the excitement and novelty of the inci- 
dents. One adventure we had is worthy of mention. 

It was late in the afternoon, and we were on our 



164 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

last trip to tlie ambulance. For some reason or 
other, Kent and I left tlie wagon for a minute 
requesting the driver to wait for us ; but when we 
returned, the rogue had driven off, and was now a 
considerable distance up the road, trotting smartly 
for the city. 

" What shall we do, Kent ?" after we had stood 
for a full minute looking stupidly at the receding 
carriage. 

" Try to catch it, certainly. That's all we can do 
now, for it may be the last wagon returning/' 

So we braced up, and followed on a run ; but to 
no purpose : the wagon was soon lost in the distance. 
There was but one course left — turn and walk back 
in the hope of meeting another load home-ward bound. 
How dismal the avenue seemed, without a sign of life 
or habitation ! In former days this had been a fash- 
ionable drive, and used to be crowded with splendid 
equipages and gsiiij-dvessed promeneurs } now, not 
an animate thing was to be seen, the green trees that 
lined the walks were gone, only their stumps being 
visible — the houses were shut and barred, and the 
thresholds and gateways and gardens neglected and 
out of repair. As we entered the village, walking on 
the left side, several old crones, peeping through the 



BUZENVAL. 165 

slmtters of tlie upper stories of the houses, kept scream- 
ing to us : " A droite ! a droite ! pour Dieu, k droite V 
and not without occasion, for a few paces further on 
we were startled by the explosion of a bomb near by. 
Quickening our step, we hurried on hugging close to 
the houses on the north side. There was an awful 
stillness in the streets, broken only by the occasional 
bursting of shells. It was like a city of the dead. 
Reaching the Pla§e du Caserne — a spacious square 
set off by noble trees — we saw at the other end, a 
troop of cavalry taking shelter behind a high, strongly 
built stone wall. Here, edged in among the horses 
we waited for some change of circumstances, which 
would be more favorable to our getting back to the 
city. 

The Prussian batteries still keep up an unremit- 
ting fire, sternly returned by the guns of Mont 
Valerian. Shells are falling in the square. A man 
at the other end of the Pla§e darts from his doorsill, 
and runs for the north side. Unfortunate man ! 
There comes a whizzing sound, a flash, a report, and 
the form falls forward without an audible cry. Quick 
as he falls, two or three black-stoled figures rush 
forth from neighboring dwellings, pick up the body, 
and retire with it precipitately. Now comes a swifter 



166 PARIS SKETCHES. 

and more terrible messenger, exploding so near as to 
make the trained war-steeds snort and tremble. 
Look ! see how that little fragment tears up the roots 
of yonder tall tree ! But now the fire ceases for a 
time ; God grant it may be the last of it ! Some 
soldiers take advantage of the interval to scud away 
to a safer refuge. Bon, mes amis ! you are safe. 
Here it is again — whir, roar, crash, and the eternal 
din quicker, sharper, more deadly than before. What 
is it that holds the breath, weighs on the heart, fas- 
cinates the ear ? Self is forgotten ; thoughts of death 
and judgment will come ; the soul is strangely moved. 
Is this being face to face with the unseeable ? Is 
this fear ? 

The square is becoming more lifelike. From time 
to time stragglers skulk cautiously along the safer 
side; and ambulance wagons rumble by. But the 
shells fall thick as ever. One strikes the Caserne 
itself, and from the clouds of smoke rising we know 
it has caught fire; word comes, however, that it 
amounts to nothing, and is being fast quelled. While 
still undecided what to do, a heavy omnibus loaded 
with wounded turns the corner, and in attempting 
to keep too close to the walk, is struck by a piece of 
a shell, its wheel wrenched ofi", and the conveyance 



BUZENVAL. 167 

brought to the ground on that side. Assistance is 
speedily rendered, the break repaired, and the load 
sent on its way again. 

The fire of the enemy was now changed, being 
so shifted as to come nearly parallel to our wall, and 
it was clearly time to move and seek other protec- 
tion ; so bidding our martial friends farewell, we 
joined a squad of National Guards just from the fields, 
and returning to Paris. 

Some distance on, we came up with scores and 
scores of soldiers — principally of the Guard who 
had evidently just arrived from the scene of the con- 
flict — muddy, ragged, hatless, weaponless, woe-be- 
gone as any body of men I ever laid my eyes on. 
One could not help thinking of Falstafi^'s raw re- 
cruits, only these poor fellows were rather to be pitied. 
They seemed to be utterly demoralized and shaken 
with fear ; no doubt the roar of cannons was yet ring- 
ing in their ears, and they saw in imagination their 
broken ranks swept by the terrific fire of the enemy 
and the bloody corpses of comrades by their side. 

From Rueil to Nanterre there is a long stretch of 
road, open and unprotected on either side. Looking 
toward Paris, Mont Valerian rises on your right; 
and this fortress was now the mark of the enemy's 



168 PARIS SKETCHES. 

fire. To traverse the road was to run tlie gauntlet 
of both cross fires. At the last house on the out- 
skirts of the village we halted to decide upon the next 
course to pursue. Behind the garden wall there was 
a crowd of men awaiting a cessation of the firing ; a 
few had dashed on up the road and could now he 
seen, alternately stooping down to avoid the flying 
fragments of bursting shells and rushing madly 
foward again. 

" Shall we go on, Kent ? " I asked. 

'' Are you willing to go ? '' 

" If you are." 

" Come, then" he said, grasping my hand. We 
started, despite the warning cries of those behind, 
and ran; for long, intense minutes we ran, hand in 
hand, with the shells falling all around us. It was 
a wild, reckless race, but somehow we escaped injury, 
though at one time it seemed impossible. At the vil - 
lage we found one of our wagons in waiting, and 
jumping in with a sense of relief, drove home once 
more to the ambulance. 

A hungry lot of gentlemen sat down to the supper- 
table that night. "Wearied as we were, we were 
satisfied with the day's work and in good humor; the 
cold horse-meat strengthened and the wine warmed 



BUZENVAL. 169 

US, and jokes and anecdotes of tlie day went round. 
One of tlie drollest — wtat might have been one of 
the gravest accidents — was the destruction of the 
coffee-machine. Late in the day it was separated 
from the rest of the train, and the chef and his sub- 
altern were obliged to leave it for a moment. While 
away they were startled by a terrific crash, and re- 
turning, there lay the machine shivered to atoms ! 
The chef was a nine days' hero. We afterward 
learned from the Prussian sentinels that their gun- 
ners had mistaken it for some new kind of war-engine, 
and opened fire upon it. 



170 PARIS SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER XII. 
BENE, " THE AMP TJTEr 

JdlE had been brought in from the field of Buzen- 
val late in the afternoon, suffering from an excessively 
painful wound in the left leg. In consequence of 
the large number of severe cases received, some — 
and poor Eene was among the number — were hastily 
and only temporarily cared for. 

The next day, however, after a careful examina- 
tion of the injured member, it was decided that his 
only chances of life lay in its amputation. Gradu- 
ally and with as much gentleness as possible the al- 
ternative was made known to him. When the full 
force of the announcement came upon him — and it 
seemed some minutes before he apprehended its true 
meaning — he wept like a child, as indeed he was in 
feeling and education. He implored the doctors in 
the most supplicating tones to alter — to recall their 
decision; he could not have his leg taken off; he 
would die from the operation, he was sure he would. 
From this natural burst of grief, he sank into a 
momentary lethargy ; muttering to himself and ap- 



BENE, THE AMPUTE. 171 

pearing to forget tlie presence of strangers. His 
thoughts seemed to wander to his home, and broken 
utterances of " Father," " Mother" were just audi- 
ble. At length, growing calmer and casting his eyes 
curiously about as one awakening from sleep, his 
gaze rested on the group by his bedside ; and in- 
stantly realizing his position, the poor boy again gave 
way to a confused jumble of sobs and entreaties, 
until, exhausted by his efforts and loss of blood, he 
sank down, weeping, on his bed. For minutes, scarce 
a sound was heard in the tent save his stifled sobs 
and long-drawn breathing. 

Then again he raised his head from his pillow, and 
attempted to turn over, but a darting pain caused 
him to cry out and fall back again. He lay looking 
up quietly at the top of the tent. Finally he threw 
an intelligent glance at the compassionate faces 
around him, beckoned the doctor to approach, 
whispered something in his ear, smiled, and closed 
his eyes, as if he were wearied and wished to be left 
alone. It had been a long, hard struggle, but it 
was over now, and Rene had declared himself pre- 
pared for the sacrifice. 

The amputation was performed ; Rene had re- 
covered from the effects of the chloroform, and had 



172 PARIS SKETCHES. 

been transported from the dissecting-table to his bed ; 
there he was now smiling, chatting, free from pain, 
and calmly smoking a cigarette. 

" Well, mon gar§on, how do you feel ? " asked 
Kent, as some of us stood around his bed. 

" Ah, monsieur ! " his look and gesture were more 
significant than words. 

" And the leg ? " 

" Eh ! I do not understand, monsieur." 

Strangely enough, he seemed to have forgotten 
that any operation had taken place, and was totally 
unconscious that his limb was gone. It was not an 
uncommon occurrence, and perhaps in this case, the 
patient was not altogether free from the exciting in- 
fluence of the narcotic administered during the 
amputation. 

" Why," Kent replied in answer to his look of 
puzzled inquiry, " your leg has been cut off; that's 
the reason you haven't any pain, my boy." 

" Ciel !" he exclaimed in alarm, beyond manner 
amazed by the news, and pulling up the bed clothes, 
surveyed the bandaged stump with a rueful and per- 
plexed air comical to see. 

" Why, it's like a big baby," he said at last, and 
burst out laughing. He was happy after that dis- 



RENE, THE AMPUTE. 173 

covery, and insisted on everyone having a look at his 
''baby." 

But this was not to endure. The reaction soon came, 
and with it pain and suffering ; yet still the young 
ampute was hopeful. The rosy hue of health, which 
he had brought with him from his country home, was 
still on his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with life and 
promise. All that could be learned from Ren6 of 
his life was that he had lived near Montfort, in the 
department of Ille et Yilaine, Brittany, and had 
worked first in the wheat-fields, then as a gar§on in 
a cafe in the city. His parents were poor, and ex- 
pected him to earn his own living ; but when the war 
broke out, though only eighteen, he must leave his 
situation and his poor father and mother, and go and 
fight for his Emperor, and afterward for " La Re- 
publique." Can you not see in the history of this 
boy the type of many another guileless peasant lad 
of France ? They come marching from the sunny 
land of southern France — the pleasant vintage- 
country — inspired with the glory of dying for " La 
Patrie /' the " Depart pour la Syrie " is on their lips, 
and the spirit of the Marseillaise in their hearts. This 
fair-haired, blue-eyed, soft-faced youth is one of that 
great band. He has spent most of his years in sow- 



174 PARIS SKETCHES. 

ing, binding, haying, reaping — in the rural occupa- 
tions of a peaceful farm life ; he has had but little, 
if any schooling, but can tell his beads or repeat his 
pater noster or follow the litany; an innocent, igno- 
rant, mild, trusting, gentle spirit, on whom may 
God have mercy, for there are many such ! 

.We have said that Rene was happy despite his 
sufferiogs. Yes, he certainly was. Whenever those 
who became interested in his case, brought him 
apples, oranges, or confitures, he would evince a grati- 
tude at once lively and touching to observe. He 
had one simple, amusing way of expressing his thanks 
which I shall never forget : taking the visitor by the 
hand, he would gently insist on his or her sitting by 
his side, and still clinging to the hand, would alter- 
nately close and open his eyes, with an expression of 
sweet content on his face. One afternoon the Mar- 
quise de Borel came to him with some choice fruit, 
which she had procured especially for him. 

" Je suis content de vous voir, Madame," he said 
with his bright smile, and it would be difficult to 
reproduce in English, the deep feeling of these sim- 
ple words. The dark, queenly woman sat down by 
his side, and leaning over whispered something in 
his ear. What a picture ! That proud, beautiful 



RENE, THE AMPUTE. 175 

lady with her flashing eyes and superb pose and cold 
hauteur, leaning over the poor, pale, suff'ering peasant 
lad in the ward here. She laid the fruit on the 
spread. The boy only glanced at the gift, then 
looked up into the donor's face with a thankfulness 
full and instinctive. He knew with the quickness 
and inborn delicacy of his race that the value of the 
gift lay not in the fruit itself, but in the benevolent 
intentions of the giver. Taking her hand in his, he 
said simply — and there were warm tears in those 
large black eyes that used to flash so coldly — • 

" Le Bon Dieu vous recompensera." The next 
minute, the marquise was gone. People spoke of 
her generally as a lady of rank and a magnificent 
beauty, haughty and polished and unfeeling. How 
poorly we judge the " mighty, brother-soul" of man 
and woman ! 

As his convalescence went on, the only thing that 
seemed to give Rene much anxiety was the thought 
that he would be unable to go back to his old occupa- 
tion in the cafe. It was strange how this apprehen- 
sion haunted and troubled him ; and he was but 
partially consoled when it was explained to him that 
though he might be unfitted for active service of that 
kind, yet there were other trades to which he could 



176 PARIS SKETCHES. 

apply himself, if indeed his regular pension were not 
sufficient of itself to support him. Need it be said 
that, with the concern manifested in his fate, every 
attention which could be given, every aid which 
could be derived from nature and from surgical skill, 
and the most delicate food and strengthening drinksj 
were brought to bear to secure his recovery ? In 
truth, Rene picked up, day by day, eating his dinners 
and drinking his wines with keen zest and appetite. 
One beautiful day toward the approach of Spring, 
when the atmosphere was unusually warm and dry, 
our young wounded soldier was taken out on the 
grounds in front of the tent. He was sinking, we 
could not deceive ourselves as. to that fact now ; the 
doctor had ordered him to be brought out in the 
fresh air to see if that would have any effect. Poor 
Rene ! it was the last time he should look upon earth 
and sky ; and thank God ! that earth was smiling 
and beautiful. It was a mild, calm day, and the 
heavens were clear and fair, and the breezes warm 
and full of the softness of spring. The rays of the 
sun played about the grounds, making the white tents 
glisten, and brightening the faded uniforms of the 
convalescents. Invited by the warmth and pleasant- 
ness of the weather they had come forth, and were 



EENE, THE AMPUTE. . 177 

now basking in the sunshine or tottering about on 

crutches among their comrades who had recovered 

but were still clinging to the old home. Among 

their sickly faces, and bandaged and emaciated forms, 

were mingled gentlemen of the staff and the ladies 

who had come to read to or to amuse them. The flaps 

of the tents were thrown wide open, so as to admit 

the revivifying air to those who were still bed-ridden. 

Rene saw it all, and a happier fellow never lived. 

He loved the bright, glorious day, with God's own 

breezes cooling his fevered brow and parched lips, 

and he wanted us all to come and see how happy he 

was, and to grasp our hands and look into our faces. 

Many an one parted from his weak clasp and joyous 

prattle with eyes full of tears. He taught us a lesson 

never to be forgotten. I believe he knew he could 

not last long, but the thought to him was not 

an embittering or fearful one ; with his childlike 

faith in a great, good Father, he was not afraid to 

die. He could rejoice in the beauty of this world 

in the very face of death. But what was it he was 

trying to say ? He seemed to be recalling something 

and with strong effort ; he went on mutttering inaudi- 

bly a minute, and then his face brightened, and 

23 



178 PARIS SKETCHES. 

his voice grew distinct, and we could catch broken 
repetitions of 

•' O ma chere Bretagne 
Que ton soleil est beau." 

For a long time he lay in this state of tranquillity, 
with his head thrown back on the soft pillows and 
his eyes sometimes closed for weariness and again 
opened to greet a friend ; but always there was the 
same innocent, peaceful smile on his face. The 
beautiful spring afternoon glided away, and the 
shadows of evening fell ; and we carried him back to 
his bed out of sight of the loved earth still murmur- 
ing 

" Que ton soleil est beau." 

The remainder of his days on earth were days of 
anguish and suffering. In his moments of extreme 
delirium the gentle nature of the boy seemed trans- 
formed to that of a demon ; he would roll restlessly 
from side to side, cry and moan, displace the dress- 
ings, and injure his limb, all, apparently, without 
experiencing the sensation of pain ; his eyes would 
start and stare wildly, as if some terrific image rose 
up before his mind, his brow cover with perspiration 
and become pallid, his breath come short, quick, 



RENE, THE AMPUTE. 179 

and feverish, and darting thrills of pain distort the 
naturally placid face into spasmodic contortions aw- 
ful to see. His moments of sanity and mental clear- 
ness were generally periods of utter prostration and 
exhaustion, and inevitably ended by launching the 
mind into its old course of disorder, not to be ar- 
rested by any opiate. 

One peaceful night in the latter part of February, 
Rene lay as usual in his unconscious state, dreaming 
and moaning. It was about nine o'clock, and all the 
men were in their beds and fast asleep. A single 
lamp burned on the pole, and by its light we had 
been watching the sleeper. The doctor had just 
passed through the ward, and ordered the accustomed 
dose of chloral to be given, shaking his head sadly in 
answer to our inquiries about the boy. He was 
breathing heavily and laboriously, and his pulse grew 
gradually fainter and fainter. He was very restive, 
and sometimes talked incoherently. 

" Que ton soleil est beau." The old strain came 
again ! At ten o'clock he expired, very quietly, and 
unconscious of anything about him. Let us hope it 
was to see the dawning of a brighter sun and abetter 
land than his well-beloved Bretagne. 

A few days afterward the following letter was re- 



180 PARIS SKETCHES. 

ceived, wliicla would lose mucli of its pathetic sim- 
plicity by translation, and is therefore preserved in 
the original. 

A la Yiletfe, 

le 26 fevrier. 
Monsieur le Docteur^ 

Je m'empresse de repondre a la triste nouvelle 

que vous m'apprenez, en m^me temps vous remercier 

des bons soins que vous avez bien voulu donner ^ 

mon pauvre enfant, malheureusement inudite ; aussi, 

monsieur le docteur, j'ai bien re§u votre triste lettre, 

et jesuis, monsieur, avec reconnaissance, votre toute 

Devoue Serviteur, 

Jean Delaunay. 



DR. EVANS'S STORY. 181 



XIII. 

DB. EVANS'S STORY. 

One Sabbath morning in tlie middle part of Feb- 
ruary, we were gathered as usual round the breakfast 
table in the dining-room of the chevalier's Maison, 
discussing the fresh dainties recently arrived from 
Versailles. There was, however, a noticeable addi- 
tion to our little party : Dr. Evans was with us this 
mornins;, brinsfinor comfortino; news from the outer 
world and loving; messao;es from anxious friends. 
He talked of the political state of Europe, of the po- 
sition of England, and of the French armies in 
Grermany and Switzerland, among which he had 
been carrying stores and clothing during the winter ; 
but it was not till almost every other subject had 
been exhausted, that he at length referred to his 
participation in the matter of the flight of Empress 
Eugenie. To render his recital more intelligible, 
I have thought best to preface it by an account of 
the previous movements of the Empress compiled 
from a well- authenticated article in the Siege de 
Paris. 



182 PAKIS SKETCHES. 

" On the morning of the 4th of September — so 
memorable, as the day of the declaration of the Re- 
public — the Empress Eugenie rose at an early hour 
in order to perform the urgent duties which now 
devolved upon her as Regent of the Empire. She 
had had but little sleep the night before, as, indeed, 
had been the case for more than a month past ; for 
besides the anxiety natural to a good mother and wife, 
together with the novelty and peculiarity of her po- 
sition, her rest was often broken for the purpose of 
announcing some important communication in re- 
gard to the war or the government. The Emperor a 
prisoner in G-ermany, the flower of the army igno- 
miniously plucked, the Prussians advancing rapidly 
upon Paris, thousands deserting the city, the troops 
at hand mostly raw and undisciplined, Montmartre 
and La Yilette in an uproar, surrounded by weak 
and vacillating councillors, the situation of the Re- 
gent was perilous in the highest degree. 

" On the morning in question she first attended ser- 
vice at the Grand chapel, and celebrated mass, per- 
formed since the commencement of the war four times 
a week in the private apartments of the palace. 
After charging her confessor with numerous charita- 
ble instructions, as was her wont, she passed from 



DR. EVANS'S STORY. 183 

the oratory into the Salle du Conseil. There, grave 
and anxious, were assembled the ministers of the 
Crown and the members of the Privy Council, de- 
liberating upon the momentous questions in agitation. 
"At half past eleven she sat down to breakfast. 
Some twenty-eight plates were laid ; the service 
d'honneurwas double. While presiding at the table 
with her usual gracefulness, despatches came, in 
quick succession, and from every quarter, announcing 
that the evidences of revolution were each minute 
increasing, and that every means was being used to 
resist and suppress the actors. Intelligence arrived, 
too, that an immense crowd of revolutionists were 
pressing on to the Playe de la Concorde. Cries 
of ' Decheance !' and of 'Republique^ were heard 
everywhere. The police were disregarded and mal- 
treated; bands of men paraded through the streets 
under the folds of the Red flag and shouting the Mar- 
seillaise. To such a height did this wild enthusiasm 
run that the unhappy Rochefort, liberated from prison, 
was borne through the city on a triumphal car, wrapped 
in a scarlet scarf and escorted by an immense mob. 
Troops had been drawn up under arms in the Cour 
du Carousel before the fa9ade which faces the garden ; 
but the orders of the Empress were that there should 



184 PARIS SKETCHES. 

"be no bloodshed : ' Toutes les calamit^s/ slie nobly 
exclaimed, ' excepte la guerre civile/ and such had 
been the substance of her answers to all the des- 
patches received that morning. 

" At half past twelve the crisis arrived. The depu- 
ties of the Tiers-parti, headed by M. Daru, were 
admitted to the palace, and, having gone through 
the ceremony of introduction demanded by court 
etiquette — not a point of which was omitted or 
passed hurriedly over at any time throughout this 
eventful day, though the rabble were at that moment 
knocking at the doors of the Corps Legislatif — were 
received by the Empress with a sad smile. She knew 
too well that they had come to propose the alternative 
of immediate abdication. 

" The particulars of that interview are not known. 
Her Majesty merely answered their counsel by saying 
somewhat ironically that — ' The ministers were at 
the head of the government to propose measures of 
usefulness to France, and that if they thought abdi- 
cation necessary, the abdication should be signed.' 
Warming as she proceeded and gaining firmness from 
their very look of purpose, her earnest voice could 
be heard now and then as the door of the salon opened 
and shut, appealing to the timid counsellors around 



DK. EVANS'S STORY. 185 

her and endeavoring vainly to arouse their courage 
and strengthen their loyalty. But even while she was 
speaking, word came from the Corps Legislatif that 
the agitators were plotting openly in the Salle des 
Pas; and while her ministers were urging her to the 
step that she had a strange foreboding would give the 
death-blow to the hopes of her family, the clamors 
of the populace rose from the street and filled the 
Salle du Conseil. Troubled and abashed, the depu- 
ties of the Tiers-parti at length withdrew, leaving 
the Empress leaning against the mantel-piece, look- 
ing sad and thoughtful. 

" About two o'clock, when the uproar of the multi- 
tude around the Corps Legislatif was at its height 
and the great change was being efi"ected in the go- 
vernment of the nation, the Tuilleries was the scene 
of a gloomy gathering. The splendid suites of apart- 
ments were thronged with Officiers de Service — not 
one of whom, it is said, was absent — several mem- 
bers of the Corps Diplomatique, gentlemen of the 
Service d'Honneur, all the Dames d'EIonneur who 
remained, and other ladies of high rank attendant on 
the court — all assembled, grave and silent, to make 
their last devoirs to their imperial mistress. It was 
24 



186 PARIS SKETCHES. 

a trying and impressive occasion, but the Empress 
bore up well till sbe came to take leave of the pious 
Clotilde, her cousin, and then it was, remarks the 
writer of the article, a spectacle of ' simplicite tou- 
chante/ 

" Meanwhile a few gallant young gentlemen of the 
Service d'Honneur had gathered in a knot in the 
corner of the salon. With a tinge of the chivalric 
spirit of the middle ages they were animated with 
the heroic resolve to accompany and protect the Re- 
gent in case she should be forced to fly. Should 
she be surprised by the mob, fired with enthusiasm, 
they had determined to die for her the glorious 
death which the mousquetaires died for Marie An- 
toinette. But, like a breath of air on a pane of 
glass, they appear, and as quickly disappear ; wills 
are not performances after all. 

" But the minutes were flying. While the Empress 
was holding an interview with the ambassadors of 
Austria and Italy, messengers came time and again 
post haste from the Corps Legislatif with the news 
that the chamber was being invaded. M. Chevreau, 
who had succeeded in forcing his way through the 
crowd, declared that the building had been given 
over to the mercy of the mob. No time was to be 



DE. Evans's story. 187 

lost; the smiling presence of Jerome David alone 
was sufficient to indicate the seriousness of the situa- 
tion. The question finally arose, since it was deemed 
necessary that the Regent should depart for very 
life's sake, whether any one had procured a carriage 
or provided any other way of escape. No; nobody 
had thought of that, and it was now too late. It was 
at this moment, however, that the Empress evinced 
her fortitude and promptitude in action : calling to 
her the various officers of the household, she gave 
them her last orders, and then turned to General 

Millinet : 

" ' General,' she said, ' can you defend the chateau 

without use of arms V 

" ' Madame,' replied the old defender of the Tuil- 

leries, ' I think not.' 

" ' Then,' exclaimed the Empress, ' all is lost. We 

must not add civil war to our disasters.' 

" And turning to those to whom she had not yet 

bade farewell, she offered them her hand without 

saying a word. As her ladies of honor thronged 

about her, she said to them kindly : 

" ' Stay here no longer : time passes,' but still 

continuing to press round and kiss her hand, she 

gently freed herself, and, accompanied by the Prince 



188 PARIS SKETCHES. 

de Metternich and Chevalier Negra, tottered to her 
apartments pale and trembling. 

" I had ensconced myself in the embrasure of a 
window," continues the narrator, '' to conceal my 
emotion, when a curious spectacle presented itself to 
my view. Just below me was the garden of the 
Tuilleries. Some foot soldiers were stationed before 
the fagade of the palace at order arms. Far in the 
back-ground, nevertheless, shadowy forms seemed 
now and then to come out of the trunks of the trees 
only to fade away again. They were the envahisseurs 
approaching with great discretion. The sight of the 
troops had inspired but tolerable confidence. Little by 
little they became bolder. The scattered shadows 
became a crowd of people ; the crowd of people was 
changed into an ocean of heads, dark, noisy, and 
compact. A confused clamor, drowned sometimes 
by the Marsellaise, rose from this dark mass, which 
spread slowly around the exterior circle of the private 
garden. I was considering how it would have been 
possible to stem this ocean, which had burst through 
its dikes, when M. de Cossat Brissac, the chamberlain 
of the Empress, entered the salon and said aloud : 

" ' Her majesty thanks you all, and bids you re- 



DR. EVANS'S STORY. 189 

tire/ There was a moment of indecison. Then 
the Officiers de Service approached. 

" ' Our duty bids us remain here as long as the 
Empress remains,' said they ' Can you give us any 
assurance that our presence is no longer needed V 

" -Messieurs, you have the permission of her Ma- 
jesty, and I may say all is well.' 

" Hands were shaken in silence, and in a few minutes 
all that was left of the court following were gone. 

" The interview between G-eneral Millinet and the 
'■^ parlementaires^'^ the harangue of the general, his 
declaration that the Empress was no longer at the 
palace, and the promise of the crowd to be gentil, 
followed and need not be detailed. Meanwhile the 
Empress assisted by Mme. Lebreton had donned a 
dress of mourning and made her final preparations 
for departure. Unwilling to expose any of her offi- 
cers to danger for her sake, she had claimed the pro- 
tection of Messrs. Metternich and Negra, whose 
diplomatic rank rendered them secure from injury. 
Before leaving her room, it is said that she cast one 
fond look on the portraits of the Emperor and her 
son, and retiring to her oratory, knelt at the altar 
and offered up a short, simple prayer. As she rose 
to proceed to the Gallerie du Bord de I'Eau she was 



190 PARIS SKETCHES. 

observed to show no outward signs of perturbation, 
but her resolution seemed firm and unshaken. 

" On arriving at the doors which connect the Tuill- 
eries with the Louvre, they were found to be closed. 
Closed ! This was their only way of escape. Dili- 
gently did they search for the keys, and by a fortu- 
nate chance, they were secured. The little cortege 
stood at last in the open air on the Plage St. Germain 
FAuxerrois. 

" But while the Empress, Mme. Lebreton, and Che- 
valier Negra were awaiting the return of the 
Austrian ambassador, who had gone in search of a 
fiacre, one of those meddlesome gamins o^ the street, 
chancing to shuffle along in their vicinity, caught 
sight of the well known features of the Empress 
behind her veil. In his wonder the boy cried out — 

' Voila Flmperatrice !' 

" Then would the escape of Her Majesty have been 
foiled had it not been for the coolness and ingenuity 
of the Italian diplomatist. Taking in at a glance the 
peril of their situation, for the place was filled with 
passers-by, the chevalier, forgetting for the moment 
his pleinpotentiary dignity, but still in exercise of 



DR. EVANS'S STORY. 191 

his powers extraordinary, answered the young gentle- 
man's indiscreet exclamation by a vigorous kick. 
Then siezing him by the ear, and taking care so to 
tweak it as to allow the " petit bonhomme" opportu- 
nity only to struggle and groan : 

'^ ' Aha ! you young blackguard/ cried the pitiless 
chevalier, — 'you will shout Yive la Prusse, will 
you ? I'll teach you, sirrah, to be a better patriot 
than that ;' and dragging him away from the spot 
where the imperial party were just entering a car- 
riage, he did not let go his hold nor cease his im- 
precations until the coachman had whipped up his 
horses and dashed away. The Italian had played 
his part well ; the Empress and her companion were 
beyond reach before the spectators realized what had 
occurred before their eyes." 

At this point the Doctor began his story. 

" On the afternoon of the 4th, Dr. C and my- 
self met at the ambulance, the tents of which were 
just then being pitched, and after arranging some 
business matters, drove together in the landau to my 

house, where I expected to have Dr. L and Mr. 

W at dinner. I left the Doctor in the carriage 

in front of the house, informing him I would be back 
immediately." 



192 PARIS SKETCHES. 

Here tlie speaker stopped, and requested Dr. C. to 
tell wliat next came about. Thus appealed to, Cam- 
den stroked his whiskers, blushed slightly, and, seem- 
ing to ask confirmation for every word he uttered, 
began. 

*' Well, Doctor, I hardly know what to say. I 
waited there in the carriage over an hour, wondering 
at your prolonged absence ; and I was on the point 
of going to the house at the end of that time, when 
Celestine was ordered to drive inside, which he did, 
stopping at the portico. I then got out and entered 
the hall, and walked toward the Doctor's office trust- 
ing to find him there. Before I reached the door 
however, the Doctor appeared, and putting his finger 
quickly on his lips, bent forward, and whispered in 
my ear, ' Can you guess who is here V and before I 
could answer, he whispered still lower — ' the Em- 
press.' With this astounding piece of intelligence, he 
led me into the office just opposite the parlor. The 
Empress and Mme. Lebreton were in the latter 
room." 

As Dr. C. concluded, Dr. Evans took up the thread 
and continued : 

" Her Majesty consulted us in regard to the safest 
and quickest way of leaving Paris. While we were 



DR. Evans's story. 193 

talking my dinner-guests arrived, and I requested 
Dr. C. to apologize for my absence and perform the 
duties of host, while I made haste to make the Em- 
press and Madame Lebreton as secure and comforta- 
ble as possible. After doing all I could in that 
direction, I rode to Paris for the purpose of ascertain- 
ing the state of popular feeling toward the refugee. 
Stopping at the Tuilleries, whither I had directed 
Celestine to drive first, I got out and walked round 
among the soldiers congregated there, engaging the 
most intelligent of them in conversation. 

" From the Tuilleries I drove to several other places, 
and inevitably found that the general feeling was 
against the Empress. Later in the evening I went 
to two or three barriers in difi"erent quarters of the 
city to see if they were open or not. Returning I 
gave the Empress an account of my discoveries, 
and a long conversation ensued, in which it was 
finally settled that Her Majesty should remain in the 
house over night, and in the morning set out for the 
coast by carriage. I have now in my possession a 
little railroad time-table, which is pencilled from page 
to page by the Empress, who, as she turned over 
thel eaves, apparently found each train better than 
25 



194 PAEIS SKETCHES. 

the last. I value it highly as a memento of the 
flight. 

" At twelve o'clock the dinner party dispersed, and 
I gave orders for some food to be warmed, and mean- 
while took to the Empress myself some of the re- 
mains of the collation. Dr. C. went to Paris to 
see what he could discover. To prevent the possi- 
bility of discovery, I made the Empress's bed with 
my own hands, and placed my comb and brush on 
the bureau — taking care to extract the hair — and 
hunted up a couple of my wife's night-dresses. 

" About one o'clock the Empress and her companion 
retired. Once locked in their rooms, I summoned 
Celestine, and reprimanded him for having admitted 
these two German women to the house, for he had 
been deceived by the Empress's accent, and taken her 
for a native of that country. ' It's bad enough,' I 
said to the man in a severe tone, ' to admit these 
people on week days j but to let them in on Sunday, 
the only day when I can get any rest, is something 
for which you merit dismissal. And the conse- 
quences are, I am obliged to keep them over night, 
for they have no place to go. Do better in the 
future ;' and having thus disposed of him, I ordered 
the rest of the servants to bed, and the house being 



DR. Evans's story. 195 

now quiet, Dr. C, who liad returned from the city, 
and myself also lay down for a little repose. 

''• Next morning I was up at half past three o'clock, 
and calling Celestine, bade him get the carriage out 
as quickly as possible. About four o'clock I knocked 
at th« door of the Empress's room. I fancied, as I 
stood waiting her response, that there was a striking 
similarity between the position of Marie Antoinette 
the morning of her execution and the present posi- 
tion of the Empress Eugenie, and I trembled to 
think that I might be knocking her up to the gal- 
lows. By half past four they came down stairs, and 
partook of a hurried meal. Tt was a little after five 
that the carriage, with the Empress, Madame, the 
Doctor, and myself within, left the house. ' When 
you come to the Porte Maillet,' I said to Celestine, 
' and the officers order you to stop — do so.' But 
when he comes to the window to examine my passes, 
whip up your horses, and then, go on !' 

" Arriving at the barrier, the Doctor filled up one 
window on one side with his head and shoulders, 
and I the window on the other, in such a way that 
both the ladies were efi*ectually concealed from ob- 
servers on either hand. As the officer approached, 



196 PARIS SKETCHES. 

the horses started as if in affright, and then dashed 
on. So far, so good. 

" Passy was our first stopping-place, then St. Ger- 
main, then Poissj, and finally Ventres (so the doctor 
pronounced it), where we drove into a small lane to 
rest the horses awhile. I left the party here, and 
walked to the village, a little way beyond, to find out 
whether any rumor of the Empress's flight had reached 
the place, and also, if possible, to procure another 
carriage and fresh team of horses. I went directly 
to the inn, and giving out that I had come to bring 

the news of the republic to the family of Count , 

whom I had attended professionally in Paris, asked 
for the largest and most comfortable carriage they 
had in the neighborhood. I finally secured an old 
fashioned conveyance, and jumping in, bade the 
driver take the nearest road to the Count's. Now I 
hadn^t the faintest idea where the gentleman lived, 
and — would you believe me ? — the man started in 
a direction just opposite to where my friends lay. 
However, I let him drive on till we were out of the 
sight of the owner of the carriage, and then 
told him to turn round and go the other way, as I had 
some friends whom I wished to see before going on. 
A little extra pour-boire overcame his hesitation, 



DR. EVANS'S STORY. 197 

and by further persuasion, and promises and threats, 
I at length succeeded in getting the Empress and the 
rest in the carriage, and once again we were moving 
along at a smart pace." 

Something occurred to interrupt the Doctor here, 
for the notes which I took at the time break off sud- 
denly, and do not recommence until the party reached 
the coast. I can, however, recall such incidents as 
the Empress eating a scanty lunch out of the Doctor's 
beaver, sleeping in the corner of the carriage covered 
only by a great-coat, and their passing through villages 
crowded with men shouting " Vive la Republique" 
and " a has I'Empereur." At the coast they em- 
barked on the yacht of Sir John , and set out 

on their voyage across the channel. 

" The water was very rough,'' continued the Doc- 
tor, " and the tide running full and strong. We 
cast off, however, and headed for Ryde, whither we 
had predetermined to go. The night was dark ; we 
couldn't see far ahead ; and the winds blew with con- 
siderable violence. The sea on was too much for our 
frail craft. All reckoning was lost by some mistake 
of Sir John's, and everyone on board, except the 
deck hands, was fearfully sick. Farther out on the 
channel the boat was spun round like a mere feather ; 



198 PARIS SKETCHES. 

it seemed impracticable to keep up any sail in such 
a sea. The men reefed and reefed, but it didn't 
seem to do any good, for we were shipping buckets- 
full of water every minute. Sir John be- 
came uncontrollably wild, and declared the yacht 
would inevitably swamp and they all be drowned. 
The Empress said calmly that she was prepared, and 
I buttoned my coat up for the last swim. Sir John 
managed to spread out his charts on the cabin table, 
to find, if possible, whereabouts we were, when the- 
vessel gave a one-sided lurch, and away went charts 
and compasses. ' For God's sake,' he called out to 
the pilot, ' tell us where we are.' He was altogether 
hors de lui, as the French say, and cursed us for 
bringing him out to his death. Seeing his incapa- 
city, I took command of the boat myself, and ordered 
the pilot to tack, tack, tack. Hour after hour we 
sailed on thus, in momentary expectation of wrecking. 
But after a long, long struggle, the sea abated, lights 
appeared ahead, and pretty soon we were alongside 
the wharf at Ryde. 

" A pretty spectacle we must have presented ! In- 
deed, we were literally turned off the dock for vaga- 
bonds. By dint of perseverance we finally found the 
hotel, and it was with great relief and satisfaction 



DR. EVANS'S STORY. 199 

that we knocked at the door. It opened at last, and 
the head of a waiter was poked out cautiously, and 
after scanning us closely from head to foot, ' what 
do you want here?' said a gruff voice. We wanted 
rooms, of course ; we were shown to the third story ! 
It was useless to expostulate — impossible to ex- 
plain, so we took up with what we could get. The 
Empress's clothes — a black silk mourning dress — 
was wet through, and in order not to excite suspicion, 
I took it down stairs to the kitchen and dried it my- 
self before the fire. In answer to impertinent ques- 
tions, I said that my wife preferred that her husband 
should dry her clothes. 

" In the morning we took the train to Brighton, 
where we expected to meet the Prince Imperial, 
whom the Empress had not seen in several months. 
I learned by the papers that he was not there, but 
in Hastings, a place by the way, I had never heard 
of before; so not knowing but it might be a mere 
village, I determined to go and fetch the young 
Prince to Brighton, and bring about the meeting 
here. But all my planning was upset by the Em- 
press's eagerness to see him, and I was obliged to 
take her to Hastings, though not at the first daring 
to tell her that her son was in town. As soon aa 



200 PARIS SKETCHES. 

possible I went to the Prince at his hotel, and was 
received with every demonstration of joy. He 
wanted to know if I could tell him of his mother, 
and burst into tears at the question. Yet he seemed 
to have a vague consciousness that I had come with 
some good news, and his gratitude and gladness were 
unbounded, when little by little, I broke to him the 
fact that she was safe and unharmed, and would 
soon clasp him to her breast, 

" Returning to the Empress, I tried to quiet her 
apprehensions by saying that I had heard Louis was 
well and would soon come to her, but nothing would 
answer under a complete account of my morning visit ; 
and no sooner had she learned his whereabouts than, 
ordering Madame Lebreton to follow, and dragging 
me along, she led us into the street, and jumping into 
the first cab that came in the way, carried us per 
force to the Prince's hotel. At the door of his room 
we were confronted by an English servant, who de- 
manded our business, ' We want to see the Prince,* 
said I. ' You can't see him, sir,^ was the sharp reply. 
' But we must,' I went on, 'we are friends of his ;' 
and then followed a storm of words, until thrusting 
the thick-headed, obstinate boor aside, and opening 
a door, I led the Empress and her companion in, and 



DK. EVANS'S STORY. 201 

then went into the Prince's room and tried to com- 
pose him for the interview. Then, when I thought 
he was sufficiently calm, I led him to the Empress. 
You may imagine what followed. When their greet- 
ings were over, the Empress took Louis by the hand, 
and pointing to me, said with emotion, ' There, my 
boy, is your mother's savior.' The warm-hearted little 
.fellow rushed into my arms, and sobbing, thanked 
me over and over again." 



26 



202 PARIS SKETCHES. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THE PRUSSIANS, 

vy N tte morning of tlie first of March, tlie Prus- 
sians were to enter Paris. Frank and I were de- 
layed in our dressings in the tent, and did not get 
away from the ambulance until nearly nine o'clock. 
As soon as relieved, however, we hastened over to» 
Col. O'Flynn's apartments in the avenue de la Grande 
Armee, and rushed up into the saloon in the most 
approved Parisian fashion. The colonel was at break- 
fast, but young Washburn was in the room thrum- 
ming on the piano. 

He told us he had been there all the morning with 
his father, the Doctor, and some other gentlemen, 
awaiting the entry of the troops, which troops hadn't 
come, except the van-guard, much to the disappoint- 
ment of the old gentlemen. The first to cross the 
draw-bridge, he said, was a queer old codger, with a 
slouch hat and shabbily dressed, and bestraddling a 
spare-ribbed nag of the Rosinante species, who, un- 
known and mysterious, rode leisurely up the avenue. 



THE PRUSSIANS. 203 

disappeared, and never turned up again to mortal 
eye. Then there came a detachment of six troopers, 
and following them, the squadron escorting General 
Von Kamecke to the palace of Queen Christiana. He 
supposed these to be the advance-guard of the corps 
that were being reviewed this morning at the Hippo- 
drome by Kaiser William and staff, and which, no 
doubt, would put in an appearance later in the day, 
perhaps in a half-hour or so from now. Consequently 
the better plan for us would be to stay and keep him 
company. 

It was a dark, lowry morning, and as we looked 
from the balcony, the avenue appeared dreary and 
desolate. The stores and dwellings were closed and 
barred fast; only here and there was there a shutter 
thrown open, and you might be safe in presuming 
that those apartments were occupied by foreigners. 
A few doors below us the stars and stripes were hang- 
ing from a window sill. From the Arc de Triomphe 
to the barricade at the Porte Maillot — each side of 
the avenue was thinly lined with spectators, mostly 
street boys and laborers. The respectable class of 
Parisians was snugly housed, and discountenanced 
demonstrations of any kind. Such a day had not 
been since the coup d'etat of Napoleon ; the whole 



204 PARIS SKETCHES. 

city was in mourning, covered with sackclotli and 
sprinkled with ashes. 

The time passed wearily. Washburn was drum- 
ming on the piano, and the sounds came to us through 
the open window mingled with the hum of a voluble 
party below on the sidewalk. The notes struck no 
responsive cord in the heart, but fell on the ear flatly 
and without harmony. Finally there was a stir 
around the Porte, a troop of gamins rushed across 
the drawbridge, and a cry of " les Prussiens '^ was 
heard. " They're coming," I said, poking my head in 
at the window. But it was only a few horsemen after 
all; they rode leisurely up the avenue, erect, broad- 
shouldered, impassive, with carbines and clanking 
sabres and glittering helmets. The gamins followed at 
their heels, maintaining a musical howl all the way, 
until they disappeared around the barrier d'Etoile. 

Another long interval intervened, and then squads 
of six or seven men, commanded by lieutenants, 
began to arrive. The officers with lists in their 
hands, elbowed their way among the groups on the 
sidewalks, in quest of the houses where their troops 
were to be lodged. 20,000 men were to be billeted 
in that way. 

One of these squads had seated themselves on a 



THE PRUSSIANS. 205 

bench directly beneath our balcony. It was not long 
before they were completely hemmed in by a con- 
stantly-increasing crowd of excited Frenchmen ; but 
they were tall, powerful, good-natured looking fellows, 
and appeared to be more amused than anything else 
at the gesticulative antics and blustering bragadocio 
of some of the Sans-culottes about them. We were 
looking down and admiring their off-hand self-pos- 
session, when a sudden movement in the throng 
about the Arc de Triomphe attracted our attention 
thither. 

The next minute a middle-aged, respectable-look- 
ing man forced his way out of the mass of brown 
blouses, and darted rapidly down the avenue, pur- 
sued by the crowd with hue and cry. Faster and 
faster he sped, now springing to this side, now to that, 
to allude the grasp of outstretched arms pressing 
closer and closer. " Un Prussien ! un Prussien ! " 
was the cry of the pursuers. Now we could see the 
despair depicted on his face ; he seemed to see death 
on all sides. They were trying to cut him off in 
front ; he saw it, and great Grod ! — the anguish in 
his look. He halted, hesitated, glanced wildly on 
one side, and then on the other, and, for the first 
time apparently, caught sight of the squad sitting on 



206 PARIS SKETCHES. 

ttie bench below our balcony. It was bis last hope, 
and every nerve was stretched to the utmost to reach 
them. Unfortunate hesitation ! The crowd was upon 
him ; amid the mass of heads and the clouds of dust 
he was lost to view. All was confusion and clamor ; 
the fierce shouts of the blouses, the compact mingling 
and glancing of figures, the tossing of arms and caps, 
and the dust enveloping the whole, rendered it im- 
possible to discover anything. At length, a hat was 
hurled high in the air ; the crowd gave way a little ; 
the wretched victim for an instant appeared, strug- 
gling desperately in the hands of the crowd. Ha ! 
he has wrenched off their grasps, and was free once 
more, flying toward the Prussian squad. Pale, breath- 
less, bleeding, hatless, and his clothes torn and -muddy, 
he threw himself exhausted at their feet. 

Heretofore indifferent, seemingly, to the fate of the 
man, they now rose up, placed the fugitive on the 
bench, and turned to meet the pursuers. The blouses 
were furious ; they pressed round the little guard 
and demanded in high, hot tones, the release of the 
spy, as they alleged he was. But the Teutons didn't 
seemed to understand at all. They were laughing 
quietly among themselves at the dapper little man 
who seemed to be the leader, and whose shrill, piping 



THE PRUSSIANS. 207 

tones could be distinguished above all the rest. Galled 
by their cool and unconcerned attitude the crowd 
closed thicker and nearer. They shook their clenched 
hands in the Prussians' faces ; now one made an eager 
dart at the trembling form of the offender. To these 
and bolder endeavors the little guard paid not the 
slightest heed. 

Emboldened by this stony impassibility, two or 
three big- shouldered, -brawny-armed ruffians, made a 
sudden, headlong dash. Backed by the tremendous 
weight of the crowd, they laid their very hands on 
the victim, and it seemed as if they could not but be 
successful. But that instant a low, quick word of 
command was heard ; before the steady front that 
faced them the blouses quailed. The formation of a 
circle, the unslinging of the rifle, the ominous click 
of the trigger — that was all ; in three minutes not a 
human being could be seen within two hundred yards. 
The Prussians dropped their muskets and proceeded 
to load them ! 

They are comical little fellows — these blouses, and 
yet not so very comical either, when once thoroughly 
enraged. Now, there is Jean at the ambulance, 
he is an excellent type of the Parisian working-man, 
short of stature, broad about the shoulders, low- 



208 PARIS SKETCHES. 

browed, and dull of coinpreliension ; and yet tliat 
is only a small part of Jean. He appears to be by 
nature, or by prolonged degradation, like the slave, 
fitted for manual labor only, and yet lie is not, like 
the slave again, resigned and impassive; ratber he 
will struggle, resist, rise, and strive to burst his bonds, 
like the wild Norman horse with which you sometimes 
see him represented on French canvass. His poli- 
tical creed, if a blind following of the crowd may be 
so called, is narrow, for he is always, on the principle 
of present interest and reward, an Ultra and a Red. 
In his own eyes, he is an humble and lowly indi- 
vidual, living obscurely somewhere in Belleville or 
the Faubourg St. Antoine, except, perhaps, in times 
of anarchy and the Commune, but — poor man ! — ■ 
unwittingly he is the most important and troublesome 
personage in France to-day. Like Ginx's baby, he 
is the problem of charities, benevolent institutions^ 
and the national government. " What shall we do 
with him ?" and Prudhomme, Louis Blanc, Hugo, 
and the savans have been echoing the question. 
The bourgeoisie — respectable shopkeepers and estate- 
holders — are in mortal dread of this man, and 
would go far to win him over to their side, if they 
could. Even Louis Napoleon condescended by pe- 



THE PRUSSIANS. 209 

riodical fetes and shows to conciliate him, and his 
sharp-witted sister, the fisherwoman of the Halles ; 
and did he not, say some, make Paris a great quarry 
in order to build another Athens, and rob the pro- 
vinces to pay the workmen ? Yes, this good natured 
blouse that is seen returning from his work in the 
evening with pickaxe and trowel, exerts an extraordi- 
nary influence on the government of France, despite 
his boorishness of manner and his lack of an Elysee 
education. 

In ordinary times his wants are few, and those 
surprisingly simple : he is content to work hard and 
dine on his four-sous meal of a bit of bread and a 
dish of black beans, scarcely dreaming of meat 
oftener than twice a week. He is civil, ignorant, and 
laborious, and, above all things, keeps his proper 
place. But now he draws his daily one franc and 
fifty centimes, and rations of bread and a hundred 
grammes of meat for his family, if he have any ; 
with nothing to do but strut along with a musket on 
his shoulder and live like a nabob off other people's 
money (which he never has shown the slightest re- 
luctance to do), he is in the seventh heaven of Ma- 
homet. Still he is brave, honest enough, and sensible 
27 



210 PARIS SKETCHES. 

when it is a question of fighting the Prussians, who, 
to be sure, are worse than the bourgeoisie. He 
would sooner, to use Jules Favre's florid figure, bury 
himself under the ruins of Paris, than capitu- 
late. He is eager to march outside the enceinte and 
be led against the German foe, but he has no leaders, 
at least none whom he does not distrust. Conse- 
quently he will hoist a flag and go to the H6tel de 
Ville and " manifest " for the Commune, which means 
everything and anything. " What shall we do with 
him ?" 

'There were no further incidents of particular note 
in the morning, only the artillery and the baggage 
trains coming in, for the entry of the troops was not 
to take place until the afternoon. When we left 
the avenue, it was blocked up most eff'ectually from 
the Arc de Triomphe as far as the eye could reach 
westward. 

The afternoon was bright and pleasant, and after 
partaking of a hearty dinner, we joined a group on 
the avenue de Flmperatrice to await the arrival, 
already so long delayed. There was the Marquise 
de Girard, who had had her easy chair wheeled out 
in front of the ambulance grounds, with one of her 
maids on one side and the big zouave of No. 4 on 



THE PRUSSIANS. 211 

the other. The ancient mariner, whom the lady had 

now taken under her special care, lay at her feet 

with his crutches beside him; he was unusually 

flighty and caustic this afternoon, and the Marquise 

had fallen to bantering him in her bright, vivacious 

way. She had acquired an unaccountable fondness 

for this wild-eyed Breton, and kept him more than 

half the time at her own house, indulging all his 

whims and fancies with an almost maternal affection. 

As for the big zouave, he stood there with his fez 

thrown back in jaunty military fashion, exposing 

a broad, sun-burned, good-humored countenance, 

calmly smoking his cigarette, and casting sheep's 

eyes at the rosy-cheeked maid. 

" Will petit Gruillaume come in on a chariot? 

asked the maid. 

" Non," said the mariner, " only on a pumpkin." 

" I do not believe he will come at all, petit," the 

Marquise said. 

" May I ask why you believe so ?" asked the 
zouave, addressing the lady, but glancing aslant at 

the maid. 

" Oh, he's afraid." 

" No, it's not that," decided the mariner snap- 
pishly. 



212 PAKIS SKETCHES. 

" Well, what then ?" 

" Why he's gone to embrace his dear brother, 
Badinguet, and write a letter home to Madame 
rimperatrice/^ 

This sally was received by the Marquise with a 
burst of laughter. The mariner replied only by pro- 
ducing his handkerchief, and blowing his nose with 
trumpet- like effect. 

" Pardon him, madame," explained the big zouave 
seriously, " he comes from Finisterre." It seems that 
in other parts of Brittany the use of a handkerchief 
for this most necessary operation is considered a piece 
of luxurious affectation. 

"Hist! I hear music somewhere,^' said the Mar- 
quise. 

" 'Twasn't the low sound of a trumpet, was it, 
Madame V asked the zouave, removing his cigarette 
to give utterance to a hoarse guffaw at his own humor. 

He was rewarded with a saucy smile from the maid, 
and then we all stopped to listen. A faint strain of 
music, now rising and again sinking fitfully, was 
borne to us on the wind that blew lightly from the 
west. Louder and louder rose the strains, until the 
different melodies could be readily distinguished, and 
no doubt remained of their coming from the brass- 



THE PRUSSIANS. 213 

bands of Germany. Soon tlie head of the column 
appeared, away down the avenue, near the Bois, and 
took of its line of march in the direction of the Arc 
de Triomphe and the Champs Elys^es. 

First came the Bavarians, short, sturdy, stolid- 
looking men, who having borne the brunt of war, 
now were honored by holding the van, the post of 
honor in the entry. Hartman's 2d, who had fought 
so bravely in the bloodiest battles of the compaign, 
were particularly noticeable for their hardy and 
veteran-like appearance. Regiment after regiment 
with now and then a superb brass-band, marched by, 
and everywhere the same admirable order was pre- 
served and the same strict discipline evinced. Per- 
haps the only breach of regulations was an act of 
genuine good will and compassion on the part of the 
soldiers : in passing by our position, several of them 
threw cigars at the feet of the big zouave. He had 
stretched out his huge limbs on the sward for greater 
ease and comfort to his wounded leg, but was upon 
his feet in a twinkle, cursing and raging like a mad- 
man ; he stamped on the conciliative offerings with 
a fiendish satisfaction, and shook his clenched fists 
at the wondering donors. 

Strange ! the ways in which this people express 



214 PARIS SKETCHES. 

their likes and dislikes. A crowd is gathered at the 
barricade in the avenue de I'lmperatrice looking 
toward the Fort Mont Yalerien, as it looms up stern 
and awful some fine afternoon with all its bristling 
batteries at work. " I wish/' exclaims a bright-eyed 
young lady of strong patriotic tendencies, all her en- 
thusiastic admiration expressing itself in impossible 
longing, " Oh how I wish you were here that I might 
kiss you !" " Let me carry the kiss for you/' replies 
a quick witted zouave, and they embrace amid the 
cheers of the crowd. On the other hand, their aver- 
sions are equally intense. Hatred of priests and 
priesthood, for instance, takes a peculiarly violent 
and blasphemous turn. At the Salle Favie an ex- 
cited orator, utterly unable to find sufficient expres- 
sion for his deep and bitter feeling, wants " to mount 
up into the heavens, like the Titans, and plunge his 
poignard in this miserable Grod of the priests " (poig- 
narder ce miserable Dieu des pretes) awful blasphemy 
against High God! and how received? '-Want a 
balloon for that," retorts a wit, and with a hollow 
laugh the dreadful mockery is passed around. Con- 
trast with this the grand outburst of Thackeray in 
reference to Henri Heine's frightful words, " Dieu 
qui se meurt." 



THE PKUSSIANS. 215 

Before the zouave had well regained his equanimi- 
ty, the long blue line of Bavarians had passed, and 
the Prussian Guards arrived. Tall, intelligent, noble 
looking fellows, their array, with its rows of brazen 
helmets and gleaming barrels and shining equipments,' 
was remarkably fine. The Marquise's eyes glowed 
admiringly ; she could hardly forbear, much as she 
detested the Germans in general, showing her admi- 
ration of the magnificence of their physique and the 
precision of their marching. Even the ancient 
mariner gave utterance to a grunt of approbation, 
and watched the Schutzen and the Jagers, as they 
passed in turn, with a sharp and understanding eye, 
repeating soto voce at the same time, " Tarteifle !" — 
" tarteifle V 

Then came the Leib regiment, the flower of the 
army, and which corresponds to the Queen's Guard 
in Great Britain. Every man is selected for his 
height of stature and strength of build, as was the 
case in the similar organization of Frederick the 
Great, and taken altogether, perhaps a finer body of 
men could nowhere else be found. They had just 
come from the review at the Hippodrome, and were 
sprinkled with dust, but it in no wise marred the 
splendor and perfection of their line and manoeuvres. 



216 PARIS SKETCHES, 

Tbey marclied with the nicest exactness, and with 
a long step. The Germans are in general more 
powerful men than the French, and the actual weight 
they carry less, so that they are able to outstrip them 
in route-marching. It is notable that at one period 
of the war the French army under MacMahon only 
covered a daily length of ten miles, while the Ger- 
man army under the Crown Prince accomplished, in 
the same pordon of the country and in the same 
time, a distance of over twenty miles. Not one of the 
marches of the Prussian army during this war, how- 
ever, can compare with the marches of the French 
under the First Napoleon. They were still passing, 
battalion after battalion, when our attention was 
attracted by a horseman pulling up by the side of 
the big zouave, who had dragged himself to quite a 
distance from us to get a better view of the troops. 

We had observed the horseman in question riding 
down the avenue at a break-neck speed toward the 
Porte Dauphine, and thought nothing of it until he 
reined up his steed before the zouave. He was in 
civilian attire, and looked like some plain, insignifi- 
cant man, who had come in with the army on busi- 
ness — perhaps a reporter. He leant from the 
saddle, and spoke to the zouave, evidently, from his 



THE PRUSSIANS. 217 

gesture, asking about his wound. Whatever the 
tenor of his enquiries, they met but with an ill re- 
quital of abuse and insult, " Curses on you — curses 
on you, Prussien !" we heard amid a fearful storm of 
execration. 

" It's Bismarck," said Kent, looking keenly at the 
rider's face, " as I live, it's Bismarck.'^ 

" Bismarck ! — bah I" and the mariner spit out the 
word with a comical expression of disgust. 

" Bismarck !" echoed the Marquise, with a slight 
scream, and then with a shrug of the fair shoulders 
and a glance of contemptuous disdain, " oh le coqum 
simstre ! " 

In another minute the great diplomat was off on 
a canter, and before long disappeared altogether. 
Before the excitement occasioned by this little epi- 
sode was over detachments of cavalry had begun 
to arrive. Mounted dragoons with clanking sabres, 
and huzzars with high-crowned hats and plumes, 
rode by in close ranks; cuirassiers resplendent 
in helmets and silver breast-plates followed ; then 
there were the Uhlans, who, with their long lances 
and fleet coursers used to prowl about the outposts 
of the French, and when given chase to, disappear 
28 



218 PARIS BKETCHES. 

suddenly, like the dusky Bedouins of the desert ; 
and the heavy-armed dragoons, alongside of whom 
the Uhlans looked like mere fancy warriors; and 
finally the rumbling artillery, and the engineers of 
the Guard, bringing up the rear. 

The chains about the Arc de Triompbe had been 
removed, and the whole army passed underneath. 
Above on either side were inscribed the names of 
Jena, Auerstadt, Wagram, and many another vic- 
torious battle of the first Napoleon over the states 
of Germany ; but when the shadow of the great 
monument, erected on the very graves of their van- 
quished fathers, fell upon them, it seemed as if the 
rankling memories that those records were fitted to 
arouse were all swallowed up in the overflowing sen- 
sation of present triumph. Cheer after cheer rose 
from the van, and was echoed down the line ; the 
bands clashed in higher strains ; the soldiers marched 
with a lighter and prouder step. It was a moment 
of great joy, and pride, and exultation. Their mis- 
sion was accomplished, their labors for the time 
ended, and they would soon return to their Father- 
land, and receive the meed of victory. 






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